


The Truth Only

by Keandre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Deception, Friendship, Gen, Magic Reveal, Rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keandre/pseuds/Keandre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fix-it fic for the end of Merlin.  I still feel we were robbed of a proper ending. It starts with the infamous 'You are the bravest man I ever met' scene and takes it from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I think you find that is everything, Sire.” 

Merlin smiled, but if Arthur had looked at his friend more closely he might have noticed that he was apprehensive.  Merlin had been dreading this meeting all afternoon and now it was here, he felt a sense of doom hovering over him.  Merlin’s heart was heavy with the knowledge he had to tell Arthur.  He had to tell him that he wouldn’t be coming to Camlann with him. 

It seemed his destiny was crushing him under its weight yet again.  In fact, he felt such pressure on his shoulders he was genuinely surprised that he managed to stand upright and pretend normality to the man he would give his life for.

He hated having to part with Arthur and leaving him unprotected, but there was no other solution to his situation.  Morgana had taken his magic and he had to regain it somehow.  It was the only way he would be able to succeed in helping Arthur and keeping him safe.  Without his magic, the essence of his being, he stood no chance against the witch and the prophecy that had shadowed his existence for the past year.

“Impressive, very impressive. Never seen work like it.” Arthur tone was sarcastic, but his eyes were smiling, and he clearly enjoyed teasing Merlin about his supposedly unexpected efficiency.  Of course, both of them knew full well he didn’t really mean it in a derogatory way.  

If Arthur was honest, he was glad about the innocent banter.  His head was full of worry about the stance he was going to make at Camlann.  He was well aware of the consequences should he not succeed.  His concern was not so much about his own life – as a warrior he was used to look death into the eye, and he was ready to accept whatever fate held in store for him.   But his thoughts were with his people, his knights, and yes…Guinevere.  What would become of them if they could not stop Morgana and the Saxons?

“Not from you anyway,” he added mischievously and grinned, feigning surprise.

‘Thank you, Sire!’  Merlin laughed nervously, but pleased.  He knew Arthur better than himself and understood that in his own little way his friend was trying to complement him.  And he realized that the banter kept him going while his mind was reeling with the uncertainty of their future.

“So what are you after?” Arthur asked, as he walked across the chamber to retrieve the map he had left on his desk.

“After?” Merlin was astonished at the question.  Did Arthur really expect him to hope for special favours for the work he had done?  Or was he just trying to keep the conversation light to skim over the uneasiness consuming him for the last few days?

“Come on, Merlin.  You are the worst servant in the history of the world and now suddenly this!”  Arthur was matter of fact when he said it, but deep down Merlin’s amazing preparation dumbfounded him just slightly, and for a reason he could not put his finger on, it unsettled him.

Merlin’s head sank.  Guilt was eating at his insides and he was steeling himself to say what he had to. If Arthur had looked him in the eye that very second he would have noticed how bothered his servant was and how broken his eyes looked. The moment Merlin had been dreading was approaching faster than he cared for.

 “Is it money?” Arthur enquired.

Merlin found it increasingly difficult to keep up the lightness of the conversation. He fixed his gaze on the table in front of him, his eyelids flickering nervously.

“No,” he answered, his voice wavering in anticipation of what had to come.

“It can’t be that. You’ve already won all of mine,” Arthur teased again, oblivious that Merlin didn’t respond in his usual irreverent manner.  The previous night at the tavern had been most profitable for Merlin, and Arthur, being a competitive man, had not easily forgotten about his defeat.

“Time off?” the king enquired half-jokingly.

“Arthur…,” Merlin attempted to speak, his conscience bearing heavier on him every second. 

But Arthur cut him short. “It can’t be that either. You don’t … really _do_ anything.”   Arthur smirked and finally noticed that Merlin hadn’t given him any cheek back so far.  _How odd,_ he thought.  _What is wrong with him?_   _Why does he not contradict me?_  

The same second he thought it Arthur had to smile to himself. _What would I do without him?_   Arthur contemplated it for a second. Of course he wasn’t referring to Merlin’s skills as a servant or to the never-ending eloquent abuse he ‘endured’ from him.  _He has always been my rock._   As Arthur mulled this over in his mind gratitude filled his heart, and a feeling that very much resembled brotherly love.

“I just wanted to make sure you had all you needed for your journey to Camlann.” Merlin tried to keep his tone as casual as possible, while making his point subtly.  However, the seriousness of his tone was unmistakable and gave him away. 

Arthur looked up in astonishment.  Why did Merlin sound so solemn?  _There **was** something wrong._ He was sure of it now.

“For the days ahead,” the warlock added, squeezing the words out as if it hurt him uttering them.  He’d done his best not to just blurt the news into Arthur’s face.

 “Thank you.”  Arthur was touched for a second before the true meaning of Merlin’s words hit him full force.  His head shot up and a huge frown appeared on his forehead.

“Merlin what do you mean – _my_ journey?” he asked, his voice betraying complete confusion.

Merlin who’d cleverly avoided facing Arthur full on so far, turned round slowly now.  His Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down frantically while he kept swallowing to keep his dry throat lubricated.

“I’m afraid I won’t be coming with you.” There, he’d done it. Voiced, what had to be said.  A little sigh escaped his mouth, almost in relief he had finally come to the point. Now all he had to do was to wait for the unavoidable reaction.

Arthur shifted his head slightly to the right, unsure whether he had fully understood what Merlin had uttered while the frown on his forehead was growing in proportion with his bewilderment.

“Not this time.” Merlin could barely articulate the words, each of them stabbing the open wound in his heart.

“I’m sorry I have an urgent errand to run for Gaius”, he said, squeezing each word out of his croaking throat.

“Vital supplies I can’t obtain here.” The lie was sticking to his tongue like super glue and spitting it out wasn’t an easy task.  In the short time they’d had, it was all Merlin and Gaius had been able to come up with. Maybe it wasn’t the best of explanations, but at least it was kind of plausible. Well, kind of.

“Vital supplies?” Arthur repeated the words completely mindlessly. _What is he talking about?  Why is he saying that?_   The king couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Surely this was some kind of a misunderstanding.  The excuse for Merlin’s decision was so feeble it was almost painful to listen to, and what made it worse was that both of them knew it was exactly that … an excuse.

“Yes.  It’s not that I am ….,” Merlin stuttered, and at that his voice died, just as his heart had done a few seconds earlier when he had seen the first signs of disappointment creeping over Arthur’s face.

“No, no,” Arthur said immediately, trying to shake off the hurt spreading inside his guts. He shook his head, doing his best not to feel utterly rejected and betrayed.  He’d never forced any of his knights to follow him into the mouth of hell. He had preferred to give them a choice. But Merlin? It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask, because he knew him too well.  At least, that was what he’d thought until now.  

“Fine,” Arthur didn’t want to be ungracious.  No, how could he be after all Merlin had done for him over the years.  Of course he had to give him the choice.  Arthur’s common sense rambled on giving him a few more good reasons why it was okay for him that Merlin wouldn’t be by his side in the most important moment of Camelot’s history.  Arthur hadn’t even considered it. No, he’d taken it for granted, not because Merlin was his servant, but because he was his friend and he had always been there supporting him, in fact he had often insisted on following Arthur when he had not expected him to.

“It’s fine. I understand,” he said trying to convince himself that he did.  He didn’t notice that he was shaking his head in complete disbelief at the same time. His reason was telling him one thing, while his heart made clear he was anything but fine about this. 

Here was the man who had lifted his spirits more than once when he had fallen into the darkest of moods.  It had been Merlin who had led him to the sword in the stone, given him courage and rekindled his self-belief when he had felt totally defeated.  The man that stood before him had always, unfailingly, been at his side, and he simply didn’t feel complete without him.

As Merlin stood frozen to the spot, Arthur faced him again.

“You know, Merlin.  All those jokes about you being a coward,” Arthur hesitated. 

“I never really meant any of them.”  No, he certainly had not. There had been plentiful jokes about Merlin’s courage over the years and it had become a standard topic of the banter they’d shared, but he had never knowingly meant any offence by them.

“I always thought you’re the bravest man I ever met.’ Arthur lips tightened as he said it, his voice sounding crushed and very vulnerable.  It was true, although he had never voiced it like this before.  Merlin had gone through the most dangerous moments with him, often without the help of a sword, usually unprotected by life-saving armour and certainly without any fighting skills to talk of.  Yet, he’d never failed to follow him or shown any signs of being concerned for his own life.  On the contrary, Merlin had always cared for him and others first and been more than selfless in many of his actions. So what made this time different?

Merlin gaped at Arthur, his chest heaving heavily under the burden of emotion bubbling inside him.  This was unexpected praise, and he would have delighted in it any other time, but now it kept stabbing him like a dagger in the heart. Arthur had never acknowledged him like this before, and there had been many times when he would have appreciated such words of commendation.  Merlin had long realized how hard it was for the king to voice his feelings.  The fact he did it now was proof how badly affected he was by Merlin’s news.  His slender frame was trembling with the effort of suppressing the tears welling up in his eyes.

Arthur clenched his fists unconsciously as he suddenly hit him fully what Merlin’s words actually implied.  His refusal to come along surely could mean nothing else but that he was afraid. He was frightened to face Morgana and Mordred and so petrified of death he couldn’t cope with the thought of leaving.  He was so anxious he didn’t dare to follow his king, so sure about their defeat he didn’t want to sacrifice his life.  Merlin was chickening out.  There was no other explanation for it.

“Guess I was wrong.”  Arthur could not help saying, even though he was fully aware how much it would hurt.

The words reached Merlin, and he was sure the sting that pierced through his heart could not have been more painful if Arthur had run Excalibur through him.  Merlin felt his insides crumble and turn to dust. After all those years this was one of the very few times when Arthur had openly given him credit for the role he played in his life, and then the precious compliment had been ripped away by the four little words he’d just uttered. The king’s quiet, resentful disappointment pained Merlin more than any rage or fury could have ever done.

Merlin stared at Arthur, sensing the complete dejection and utter disbelief, so evident on his friend’s face, and a lonely tear started rolling over his cheek.  He had not expected this to be easy, but, foolishly, he hadn’t expected to feel so utterly rejected. He also had not been prepared to be branded a coward. 

That, he was not and never had been. Even if Arthur couldn’t appreciate the full extent of his support, he surely knew him enough by now not to make such quick judgements.

The injustice of the situation was overwhelming, yet it was obvious he could say nothing else to justify himself without giving his secret away.  He had no choice but to bear Arthur’s scorn and leave it at that.

 _But what if this is the last time you’ll see him?_   The little voice in the back of his mind rattled him.  Merlin pushed the niggling thought away, and with his head low and heavy in resignation, he slowly turned and headed for the door. There was nothing to be added. He would have to be patient and wait to prove his worth, as he had done so many times before.

“I’d rather you told me the truth,” Arthur uttered the words almost inaudibly just as Merlin put his hand on the handle of the heavy wooden door leading out of the king’s chamber.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin froze on the spot staring at the door handle he had been about to grab and realized in an instant that, at this very moment, he would have to choose between two paths.

He could pretend to have overheard the remark and go, leaving Arthur in doubt about his loyalty and friendship and unsure of what kind of person he was.  He could leave him to contemplate why the person he had called friend so many times would want to behave like a coward and desert him in his time of need.

Or he could choose to stay and do as he had been asked. Tell the truth. No doubt this would be even more painful than leaving.  In fact, it would be like opening a can of worms.

If he gave up the secret he had been guarding for so many years he had to expect a far worse reaction than the one he’d just received.  Merlin didn’t even realize he was grinding his teeth at the thought of it.  But he had waited for so long to tell the man before him who he truly was.  He’d yearned to be recognized for his true self and often dreamt of a time when he could use his magic freely in Camelot. That time surely had to come soon.

“He’ll never know who I really am,” he’d whispered in desperation to Gaius when Uther had died and Arthur had declared his undying hatred of magic.  Gaius had tried to comfort him then. “The day will come,” he’d said. “I am sure of it.”  But the day had never arrived, whether of Merlin’s choosing or not.  There never seemed to have been the right time. _What if it never happens?_   Merlin couldn’t bear the thought of it. He had been in hiding for too long, and he wanted nothing more than to tell the truth.

 _What if this is the last chance I’ll ever have to come clean?_   The sobering thought almost stopped Merlin’s breath. Then Arthur would always take him for a bumbling loyal fool who had chickened out at the last hurdle. If he could not retrieve what made him who he was, if he didn’t find a way to get back his magic, he would be unable to save his king and Camelot.  But if he kept silent now, he had no chance of even warning Arthur of the dangers he was facing. 

If he chose to grab that handle and open the door and leave those chambers, Arthur would never hear of the prophecy hanging over his head like a dark shadow.  Should he really let him face Mordred and Morgana without fully understanding what he was up against?  Surely that meant failing his king and his duty.  The least he could do was to put him into the picture so he would be prepared and ready when the time of decisions came.

Merlin suddenly took heart.  If he told Arthur the truth now he would be able to warn him and tell him what to look out for and prepare himself for the worst. That would be worth anything, even complete rejection.  As long as it meant that Arthur would live.

So what if … he just did as he was asked?

Merlin’s shoulders were heaving up and down with the burden of having to make this momentous decision while his mind was going round in circles.  He could feel Arthur’s eyes boring into his back waiting for a reply.

The king just stood there watching the man he had considered his closest friend and confidante for so long.  Yes, he’d probably never really expressed this properly, but at the bottom of his heart he knew that he needed Merlin.  His ever-present boundless optimism, his unfailing loyalty, his readiness to do anything for his king, and, most of all, his selfless friendship had been there for him every step along the way.  And _he has made me a better man because of it._ Which made Merlin’s choice of deserting him when he needed him most even more unconceivable.

Arthur simply couldn’t grasp it. Merlin’s honesty had always been what he had appreciated most.  Even when they had just met Merlin hadn’t been afraid to tell him exactly what he thought and never shied away to give his opinion, be it welcome or not. He’d been courageous enough to warn him about Agravaine at a time when Arthur had been completely oblivious about his uncle’s treachery and he had bravely weathered Arthur’s fury in the aftermath. 

Merlin hadn’t been frightened to speak up for Gwen after Arthur had banished her and forbidden everyone to mention her name to him ever again. While all other of his advisors and friends had been tiptoeing around him and bearing his gloomy mood, Merlin had stood tall and made him face his true feelings. And again not long ago it had been Merlin who had brought to light that Morgana had been twisting Gwen’s mind.  Without him, she would have never been returned to him as herself.

And there had been many more occasions like this.  Every single time Merlin had shown he wasn’t afraid to tell uncomfortable truths and risk Arthur’s wrath as a consequence.  How often had he insisted on unpleasant realities to be brought to light and prevailed in the end for the better _!  So why, why on earth, would he try to fob him off with such a feeble excuse now?_ Arthur thought, his eyes full of sorrow.

Arthur watched as Merlin turned round as if in slow motion.  When he finally lifted his eyes to look straight in his, the intensity of the turmoil staring back at him made him flinch. 

“The truth?” Merlin whispered. “You want to hear the truth?”

Arthur just nodded, unable to react any other way.

“What if… the truth is far worse than what you just heard?” Merlin asked, as the fear of what would happen when he revealed everything took a hold of him.  Tiny pearls of sweat started appearing on his forehead and at the back of his neck.  His hands felt cold and clammy as they kept moving over his breeches restlessly, while nausea swept through his body forming a huge lump in his throat.  He wondered for a split second if his voice would do his bidding as the knot forming in his throat steadily tightened further.

“It will be at least the truth,” Arthur muttered, his heart suddenly drumming furiously in his chest in wild anticipation.  Merlin’s behaviour had upset him so far, but now he was seriously concerned.  What truth was so awful he wasn’t able to speak of it? What could have happened that made him lie and make feeble excuses?  What could possibly turn him into the emotional mess he was obviously in?

For a second they just stood there measuring each other in heavy silence.

Merlin swallowed hard pushing himself to speak. This was it. He had waited for so many years to come to this point.  Yet, it was not at all how he had imagined it.  He had lived through so many scenarios how he would finally tell his king, his friend, his brother who he really was. How he would find out.  But none had come even close to this strange situation.

“Are you sure?”  Merlin made a final attempt to give Arthur a chance to let the matter go.

“Just get on with it, Merlin,”  Arthur was getting impatient now, on the one hand desperate to know what was going on in Merlin’s mind and on the other somewhat panicking what he would reveal. Arthur wondered for a split second if, maybe, it would have been better not to ask for the truth.

Merlin’s blue eyes bravely sought his gaze and then he started.

“When I came here first, I was looking for a place where I could make a home.  A place to belong.”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow, doing an uncanny imitation of Gaius without realizing it.  This was a rather unexpected turn to their conversation.

“Well, after meeting you, I thought I had come to the wrong place.” Merlin managed to grin feebly at the memory of their first encounter.

“I tried to kill you with a mace,” Arthur remembered, his lips twitching into a half smile.

“On that very first day I was told by an old …..druid about an ancient prophecy.” Merlin’s conscience cringed as he used another little lie. _One step at a time._   He sighed to himself. Telling Arthur about Kilgarrah at this point would have pushed the boat out way too far.

“A prophecy?” Arthur frowned, unsure how to react. Of course he knew the druids told many stories of events past and future, but he had no idea where Merlin was going with this.

“A prophecy about the Once and Future King who would bring about the Golden Age of Albion. This would be a time where all people would live together in peace and prosperity in a united kingdom.”

“That’s nice.”  Arthur replied with hesitation. “But it sounds like bedtime stories again, Merlin.”  _What on earth is this all about?_ he wondered. Yes, he remembered the name of the Once and Future King.  Merlin had called him that a few times before, but he’d never really paid attention to it, or considered it might be more than an invention of his vivid imagination. 

“Just say what you have to, but this is getting a little …tedious,” he said edgily, yet at the same time trying to humour Merlin at least a little bit longer for the sake of their friendship.

Merlin looked at him, inwardly shaken in frustration at Arthur’s ignorance. “You are the Once and Future King, Arthur.”

“Is that so?” Arthur’s face twisted with disbelief.  “Who decided that?”

“It’s been written in the legends for centuries, that you were the king to usher in this new era of justice and fairness.”  Merlin looked at his friend expectantly, but was only rewarded with an incredulous stare. 

Arthur sighed. “I’m flattered.” and then added more impatiently. “Just come to the point, Merlin.”

“The legends also foretold that in order to bring about this wonderful age the Once and Future King would need the help of a very powerful warlock.” Merlin swallowed hard.

“A warlock?” The words smacked of incredulity.

“A man who is born with magic,” Merlin explained.

“I know what a warlock is, Merlin,” Arthur retorted, his voice brimming with indignation. “There are no sorcerers like that,” he added, certain of his knowledge.

“There is one.”  Merlin contradicted him with an air of confidence that made Arthur furrow his brow.

“His name is Emrys.”  Merlin’s stomach churned, aware he was slowly clawing himself towards the final revelation, but realizing at the same time that so far Arthur had not been a very sympathetic listener. _This is the wrong time_ , a small voice whispered in the back of his mind.  But by now it was too late to change his mind. He had committed himself and he was determined to go through with it.

Arthur’s head went up when Merlin said the name.  He was sure he’d heard it before somewhere else.  It had been a long time ago, but… 

“Morgana mentioned this Emrys once,” Arthure said, trying to recall from the depths of his memories what her exact words had been. 

“Not even Emrys can save you now.” Those had been her words when she’d attempted to take Camelot the last time.  For Arthur that conversation had been one of the most painful he’d ever had, and it had lived in his heart ever since. It was when he had no choice but to finally accept that the Morgana he’d loved and known, the woman that had been his sister, had ceased to exist. 

She obviously had believed this Emyrs was real and that he would have helped him.  But the name was a common one and none of this proved that the prophecy Merlin was talking about had any substance.

“So that _Emrys…_ ,”  Arthur concluded slightly disgruntled. “Even if he exists, what has he and that prophecy got to do with you.  And all of this?” Arthur’s irritated tone indicated he was tiring of this conversation as he failed to make a connection.

“Everything,” Merlin said quietly, and Arthur’s head popped up at the graveness in his voice.  Suddenly Merlin felt completely calm.

“I am Emrys,” he stated and then paused.

Silence fell and all Merlin could hear was the distant clattering of hooves in the court yard below and a knight shouting instructions at someone.

“What are you …,” Arthur asked in total confusion. “Merlin, what …,”  Arthur looked at his friend who just stood there, pale and tired looking, but with an undeterred sense of serenity and dignity.

“What are you trying to say?” Arthur finally managed to complete the sentence.

“I am Emrys,” Merlin repeated more self-assured. “I am a warlock and I have magic.”

As he was saying it, finally, out loud, Merlin lost his previous composure. He started shaking uncontrollably. Tears started streaming down his face and constrained sobs ripped out of his mouth faster and louder by the second. He had suppressed his feelings for too long and now they just poured out of him without restraint.  The terror of this moment, the nerve wrecking anticipation all mingled with a sense of relief that he’d finally done it.  At the same time the horrifying knowledge that all this was completely … wrong and that it had come at the wrong time started to overwhelm him.

Arthur shook his head violently as he was watching the man he’d regarded his best friend break down completely before his eyes. He had been surprised at the pride and the power in Merlin’s words, but how could he possibly take them seriously?

“Merlin, this is stupid.” It broke out of him as a first gut reaction.

“ _You_ ’re **not** a sorcerer… or a warlock …,” Arthur stared at Merlin wondering why he even bothered replying to his silly statement.

“I would know!” Arthur added in his rather annoyed, kingly manner.  Of course he would have known.  Merlin had lived under his nose for more than ten years.  Only an idiot would not have noticed something that momentous and obvious as him having magic.

“But I use it for you, and only for you,” Merlin continued as if he hadn’t taken in Arthur’s words at all.  His croaky voice almost faltered as he was baring it all, and his words oozed of the desperate need to apologize.

 _He seems to be serious about this_ , Arthur thought in complete disbelief not really taking in the meaning of the last few words.  He shook his head again.  Merlin could not be a sorcerer. He was sure of it.  _This is just gibberish_.  _Maybe he’s unwell or has come down with some affliction affecting his mind_.  For a second Arthur searched the face of his friend.  But all he found was a desperate look begging for an answer and understanding.

“Why would you say this?”  Arthur asked, still dumbfounded and shocked at the strange revelation.

“Because you asked for the truth and this is it,”  Merlin replied stubbornly, unable to comprehend that Arthur refused to believe a word he was saying. Surely after all those years he should have had some kind of trust in his ‘stories’. Surely their friendship was worth a leap of faith.

Then something struck Arthur out of the blue. Now that would sort out this incredulous situation!

“You say you have magic,” he repeated to Merlin who gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“Well, prove it!”  Arthur said quite matter of fact and was sure this would end this unbelievable conversation. He was surprised he had not come up with the idea earlier.

Merlin seemed to grow even paler at the suggestion. He looked straight at Arthur again and the hurt that poured out of his eyes intensified at Arthur’s request.

“I can’t,” he barely whispered.

“And why would that be?”  Arthur asked triumphantly, sensing he would be able to prove his point. 

“Morgana attacked me with a magical creature last night that took my powers away.”

Arthur gasped. _Now this is taking the biscuit. Surely he can’t expect me to believe this nonsense._

“So you can’t even show me you can do magic.” There was an unpleasant edge to Arthurs’s voice now that didn’t go unnoticed.  “What kind of magical creature would be that powerful?” he asked as an afterthought.

It was almost impossible for Merlin to turn any paler than he was already, but knowing how strange and outrageous his answer would sound to Arthur, even the last drop of blood drained out of his face.

“A slug,” Merlin’s heart sank like a boat that had a hole the size of a canon- ball.

Arthur blinked twice, his breath taken away by the absurdity of the answer.  If this had been a different time, a different place and a different situation, he would have laughed out loud and congratulated Merlin on his hilarious joke. But the way things were, nothing about this felt funny. Ill temper started bubbling deep below.

“A slug,” Arthur said, savouring the word with sarcasm.  “A slug, … Merlin?!’  Arthur repeated, his voice rising resentment washed over him.

“How can you possibly expect me to believe all this… gibberish?”  The anger was blatantly evident now.  Arthur hated to be made a fool of and that was what it felt like at this moment. Why would Merlin do this to him?

As Merlin watched Arthur his world was falling apart. He had given everything at the cost of his own happiness, just to be laughed at, to be showered with indignation when he had finally found the courage to tell the truth.

“Morgana knows I’m Emrys and she knows I would do anything to protect you and defend Camelot.  But without my magic I can do nothing.” Merlin attempted desperately to clarify his position further and make Arthur understand.

Arthur had started pacing up and down his chambers, his brows deeply furrowed and his teeth tightly clenched.  When he stopped, he looked up.

“If I understand you correctly then, Merlin … you’re telling me, you’re a sorcerer… “ and at Merlin’s look he corrected himself. “… a warlock.”  Arthur couldn’t see what difference it made to their conversation.  “ … that you have …. _magic.”_

Merlin cringed at the sarcastic note in Arthur’s tone.

“But you can’t do magic…,”  Arthur paused, clearly troubled by his own summary. “ …becauuuse … “ Arthur drew out the word sarcastically, “it was taken by a _slug._ ”  The last word, laced with bitter irony and sheer disbelief hits Merlin straight in his guts. This was turning into his worst nightmare.

Arthur took a deep breath before he continued. _“_ A slug Morgana sent in the hope she would be able destroy me as a result.”

 _He is coming to the wrong conclusions._ Merlin sensed it, but the avalanche had started to roll. A sudden wave of panic and heartache crashed together over his head. 

“I need to get my magic back.  That is why I have to go.  That is why I can’t come to Camlann with you just now.  It’s the only way I can help you at all,” He insisted, choked with grief, but realizing at the same time how strange and removed from reality all this had to sound to Arthur. The tiny hope his king would just take his word and trust him evaporated in thin air.

Arthur stared at him, his eyes damp and gloomy, and Merlin could feel the atmosphere changing. The air seemed suddenly thicker and heavier to breathe and a wall of suspicion was rising at alarming speed between them.  The king’s eyes had darkened and his mouth was in a thin line before he spoke.

“No Merlin,” he stated with the coldest of voices. “I understand now what’s going on here.”  He looked at the young warlock with despising eyes. “I asked you for the truth and all you give me is a web of ridiculous lies and fabrications of deceit.’

“You are a coward, and just like a coward you’re afraid to admit it.” Arthur snarled.

“And to cover up for your failings you make up this … gibberish.” The hurt in his words was overpowering.  It was as if he suddenly didn’t know the person standing right next to him anymore. Was this really the man who had sworn on many occasions he would die at his side?  That he would protect him whatever the cost? He would have been able to live with the disappointment of his silly excuse of going on an errand, even if it was hurtful.  But this!

No, he would never be able to look Merlin straight in the eye again after all the lies he had just dished up and the act he had put on to make him believe it.  No decent man would do a thing like that.  How could he have been fooled about Merlin for so long? 

His heart was dying as he looked straight into the blue eyes that he had become so accustomed to. They looked back at him dead, mirroring exactly what was going on inside him.

“Leave me,” Arthur croaked, overwhelmed by the grief and emptiness of losing the friend he’d valued so highly. “I’m relieving you of your duties.”  

Merlin couldn’t believe his eyes and ears, he did not want to. “Arthur…,” he whispered in defeat, his heart totally numb and shattered. He turned to go as he’d been told, but then, in a flash, he popped round his head. He had to say it, had to try at least.

“Arthur. I beg you. Watch out for Mordred. It is foretold you will die by his hand.”


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur sat at the small fire with Gaius and Guinevere.  He didn’t realize he was staring into the flames quite forlorn in thought.  His mind was overloaded with so many things, he’d given up concentrating on something particular.  It had been a long and exhausting day.  They’d assessed the situation at Camlann and made camp near the pass in preparation for the battle that had to come.  Details of instructions he had handed out, of discussions he’d had, of assurances he’d made flashed past him as snippets of his memory, but annoyingly he came back to the same thing every time whatever effort he made to put it into the back of his mind.

Merlin.

He’d sat at the edge of his bed for a while after Merlin had left him. After he had released him from his service.  The conversation had left him feeling hollow and the sensation of utter confusion, disappointment and hurt had been gnawing at him ever since. He’d tried hard to distract his mind, but their last conversation refused to dissipate into the depths of his soul.

He’d reasoned and argued every possible scenario to explain his friend’s action, but however he had twisted the happenings of that afternoon, he wasn’t able to come to a different conclusion than the one he’d drawn to start with.  Merlin had lied to him on a huge scale to avoid having to join him in their desperate effort against Morgana.

At one point, when he’d been mulling their conversation over for the hundredth time, a little niggling thought had hit him unexpectedly from nowhere.  Was it possible that Merlin had told the truth after all?  He’d sounded so sincere when he had presented his story and looked genuinely upset by the whole thing.

But the thought died as quickly as it had been born.  If Arthur chose to believe Merlin’s story, he would have to face up to the fact that Merlin had lied to him not only once, but ever since they had known each other.  And that was more than he could chew at the very moment.

Headily Arthur made a conscious effort to bury the anguish threatening to swallow him up yet again in the furthest corner of his consciousness.  He had more important things to think about than a futile argument.  As he got up and walked across to check on the progress of their preparations, Gaius and Gwen exchanged a knowing look.

“I tried to talk to him about what happened,” Gwen said, searching Gaius’s face in the hope of an answer. “But he wouldn’t speak of it and tell me why he dismissed Merlin.”

Gaius sighed deeply. He would have dearly liked to share the burden of his knowledge with Gwen, but he knew he could not.  When Merlin had returned from Arthur’s chambers the old physician had immediately known that something was very, very wrong.

“He took it badly, then?” he had tried to open the conversation.  Merlin had given him a grief-stricken glance and then explained very shortly how things had turned out more than worse.

“You told him?” Gaius had gasped in horror, unable to comprehend why Merlin had taken that risk at this particular time.

“He… he asked for the truth ... I thought that at least if he understood the prophecy, if he knew of the danger, of Mordred, he’d be able to take precautions just in case …,”  his voice had faltered.  “If I can’t regain my magic, this is all I can do for him…” Merlin was clearly overcome with frustration and sorrow.  The loss of his magic was starting  to hurt badly. Gaius knew how useless, how hopeless Merlin felt without it and the knowledge that there was nothing the boy could do at all unless he regained it was evidently beginning to really down him.

Gaius had gasped again, even more audibly than before. “And then?”

“I could have spared my breath.  He didn’t believe a single word of it.”  Merlin pushed out harshly.  “He branded me a coward and a liar.”  The memory of Arthur’s rejection had left a bitter taste in Merlin’s mouth.  Actually no, it was not so much the rejection, as the accusation of being dishonest and cowardly that had really left a gaping hole in his heart, and that the king hadn’t even been prepared to put a little bit of trust and belief in him, even if the story sounded unlikely.

“Merlin!” was all Gaius could utter but the one word contained every single emotion he felt for Merlin.  The young warlock had risked so much for Arthur and for Camelot, sacrificed his whole life and happiness and yet, he was still so far away from achieving what he dreamt about. He certainly didn’t deserve such a disdainful reward for his efforts!  Arthur had reacted blindly, Gaius was sure of it.  The king had been burdened with worry about Morgana and the Saxons and the many hours of military preparations and strategic had worn him down. 

“He released me from my duties.” Merlin was all resignation and Gaius, too distraught for words, just embraced him in a tight hug.

“He’ll come round, Merlin,” he had tried to comfort the young man. “He will believe. You’ll see.”

But Merlin had just shaken his head in antipathy. “I doubt he’ll ever trust me enough again to believe anything I say,” he replied sadly and resentfully, his insides vacant from the overload of emotion he’d gone through earlier.

Then he had taken his leave and gone in search of Gwaine who had promised to accompany him on his way to the Crystal Cave where his only hope to regain his magic lay.

“Gaius?  Gaius?”  Gwen touched the old man’s shoulder and ripped him out of the depths of his thoughts.

“You know how devoted Merlin is to Arthur and how much Arthur loves Merlin. Is there nothing we can do to reconcile them before …”  _it is too late_. Gwen completed the sentence in her mind.  It betrayed what she felt inside. The worry of the oncoming battle and what it would bring had wrapped itself around her heart and was squeezing tightly. That Arthur had quarrelled with Merlin now was too much to bear. She loved them both and it pained her more than she could express to see them estranged.

Later in their tent, when she embraced Arthur and held him, when she wished that tomorrow might never come, she sensed how troubled he was. 

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Did I make the right choice in making our stand here rather than in Camelot?” he asked quietly.  Maybe Merlin had preferred to take a sharp exit because he simply didn’t trust his leadership?

“I’ve never for a moment doubted the valour and wisdom of your decision,” Gwen answered earnestly.

“I believe in you, Arthur,” Gwen said with a certainty that sent a warm glow of love through Arthur’s heart.  She snuggled up to her husband, pulling him as close as she could.

“If you don’t doubt me, Guinevere, I don’t doubt myself,” Arthur said, grateful for the much needed boost of moral. But it would have made him feel so much better if Merlin had been at his side, too, grinning at him with his ever optimistic smile and breaking the tension with a silly joke.

Knowing him the way she did, Gwen realized it was not Morgana, the Saxons or the ensuing battle that were the primary cause of Arthur’s downtrodden mood. Of course these were burdening his mind.  But he was brave and bold and a fight was a challenge he could face hands on.   She understood instinctively it was something far more private that really affected him.  Even now as he was lying close to her, enjoying the warmth and love of her arms, his brows were deeply furrowed and his mind was somewhere else.

“Arthur…,”  Gwen spoke softly and insistently. “Whatever Merlin has done…he would never leave you in a time like this if there wasn’t a good reason for it. You know that.  There must be something really important, something that he can’t talk about…”  Arthur just shook his head sadly. He couldn’t and did not want to discuss it. It was too close to his heart and far too painful.

“Merlin is gone.  I heard he left Camelot last night after we spoke.” Resignation rung through Arthur’s voice, faltering at the realization there was a good chance that they would never meet again.  “Please don’t speak of him to me.” 

And they left it at that, very aware they didn’t have much time left together and that it was only wise to savour the few moments which might very well be their last.

 

oooooooooo

 

Arthur had trouble falling asleep. The tension before the battle, the anticipation of meeting Morgana again, the uncertainty of the outcome of this brave stand were keeping him awake.  He finally dozed off out of in a restless slumber, but still could not fall into a sleep deep enough to bless him with some recovering peace.

Then suddenly a familiar voice sounded loud and clear inside his head.

“Arthur!  Where are you?” Arthur opened his eyes in wide shock.  Why on earth could he hear Merlin in his head just as if he was standing right next to him?

“Arthur. Your plan is a good one, but your army’s flank is vulnerable. There’s an old path over the ridge of Camlann Morgana knows about.  She means to trap you and cut you off.  Find the path or the battle will be over before it began!”

Arthur startled and sat up, waking Guinevere in the process. 

“Find the path!”  Merlin sounded urgent and desperate. “Trust me, Arthur. Believe me.”

“Merlin!” Arthur gasped and for no reason at all, apart from his gut simply telling him to, he trusted in his friend’s words and acted upon it.

 

oooooooo

 

Merlin was spurring on his horse as he’d never done before. So many lives depended on him arriving on time. He had to get there before the Saxons could overrun Arthur’s army, before they could wipe out every single man that stood fighting, before they slaughtered half the population of this kingdom and before they took Camelot.  But most of all before Mordred found Arthur.

The Crystal Cave and the faith of Balinor had restored him and rekindled his belief in himself and in his destiny.  And it had done so much more than that.  He had never experienced his magic running through his veins with such intensity and purity.  When he had arrived in the main chamber of the cave and given himself to the force that had made him who he was, the power of the crystals had reverberated in every fibre of his being and made him whole again, and more. 

“You always are and always will be,” His father had said, and even though Merlin might have known it deep, deep down in the depths of his consciousness, he now saw clearly where his path lay. 

“You are magic. You can’t lose what you are.”  The words were still ringing in his head and the familiar feeling of his magic pulsating through his body gave him confidence and hope.  It was like welcoming an old friend he had dearly missed. Yet, it was a friend that had grown in power and wisdom.

And while the long, white hair of Emrys was blowing wildly in the wind and his horse took him nearer Camlann at a ferocious speed, his thoughts turned inevitably to Arthur.  Arthur’s doubts at his loyalty had hurt and still did.  He had so easily dismissed him, without any thought of how often he had proved himself to the king.  _I thought he was my friend._  Merlin’s insides clenched.

 _He is still your king,_ his conscience scolded him. _And it is your duty to do whatever you can for him._

At the bottom of his heart Merlin knew he wasn’t riding like a madman just for duty.  He couldn’t bear the thought of Arthur walking into the hellhole of the pass without him.  There was no way he would even dream of abandoning him in a time like this. Whatever happened afterwards, if there was an afterwards, no one could tell.

At least he’d reached Arthur in his sleep and tried to warn him, but he couldn’t be sure how the king had received his message.  Would he trust Merlin’s words enough?  Would he believe what he had heard this time?  Merlin could only but hope, but he spurred his horse on further, just in case Arthur had chosen the path of ignorance.

 

ooooooooo

 

Arthur was fighting like he’d never fought before. All his physical strength, agility and military prowess went into every move he made.  He had struck dozens of the Saxons down, but it seemed that for every man he’d killed two more had appeared before him.

He fought alongside his knights, the men he had entrusted with his life and safety for so many years.  The knights that had been there for him since they had sworn their allegiance at the round table to serve and die for him.  Leon, Percival, Gwaine. His brothers in arms. How much he honoured and loved them and how much they were willing to give for him and for Camelot.

Unlike Merlin. 

He’d been there at the round table, too. The most loyal of them all, he had not even needed to swear allegiance to him because it had always been the. Unfailingly.  The thought cut through him like his sword that pierced the man before him.  It stabbed ferociously at his heart as he ran through his next opponent with an unsuspected move. 

But what about the dream? _It was a weird coincidence_.  Arthur put it down to his military instinct and maybe a vague memory that such a path existed. A memory that had surfaced at the right time.  That the warning was delivered in Merlin’s voice was no doubt due to the fact that he’d been on his mind non-stop for the last day. 

One thing was for sure though: If it had not been for the warning they would have all perished already.

Arthur had no time to dwell on it.  He had to deal with the present, not the past. The great warrior he was, he knew he and his army could not and would not last like this forever.  Three more Saxons were taking a run at him at this moment and as he twisted and turned, cut and pushed, kicked and hit, he felt weary for the first time.

One wave of soldiers followed another and the knights of Camelot fought bravely and courageously, but slowly their strength was fading, and it started to dawn on them that they would have to accept that whatever they were doing would never be enough.  They were simply outnumbered. 

Another surge of Saxons was working its way towards Arthur and before he knew it eight men had surrounded him, their swords ready to strike and victory clearly within their grasp.  _Is this the end?_   a little voice whispered somewhere in the back of the king’s mind. But he wasn’t willing to give up yet and immediately squashed the impertinent thought.  He would lead his men in example and die for his values and his kingdom if need be.

Arthur faced the Saxons that had edged him towards a rocky cliff and stared into their smug faces. They knew they had more than an advantage and were just waiting to finish him off.  Arthur took a deep breath before he stepped forward his sword raised high above his head and ready to give it his all.

Just then an explosion ruptured the night and it was so loud some men covered their ears in pain.  Out of nowhere a lightning bolt struck and it hit the Saxons straight in front of Arthur. The force of it blasted them through the air and when they fell they did not stir any longer.

Arthur, ripped out of the intensity of the fight, looked up startled and searched for the cause of the strike that had saved his life. As soon as he lifted his eyes up to the cliff, he saw him.

The sorcerer.  He was an old man with a white beard and long white hair, clad in a long red coat that matched the colours of Camelot.  He held his staff firmly up in the air and another blast of lightning hit the Saxon army. For a second their gazes met and Arthur’s heart stood still. There was something uncannily familiar about the lone figure on the hill.  _I have seen that man before_. Arthur noted with surprise. And as the sorcerer conjured lightning upon lightning to rain upon Camelot’s enemy he could not help but stare in awe and wonder at the sheer power of the display.

The Saxons were screaming at the unexpected attack and men were fleeing in all directions, horrified at the power unleashed on them. But just as Arthur thought that their darkest hour might have passed, a massive, screechy roar filled the earth and a white dragon swooped down onto the red knights of Camelot _. A dragon?_ Arthur stood frozen in shock and completely dumbfounded. _I thought I killed the last one._

The dragon’s fiery breath burned its way through the confines of the narrow pass and Arthur heard the petrified screams of his knights as he watched them running for their lives, trying to hide from the fire behind the rocks of the pass, as an explosion of fire enclosed them. 

And he could no nothing less, but his path was covered in bodies piling up all around him. As he clambered over them hoping to find some shelter, he felt the dragon approaching again. The noisy rambling of its lungs gave away it was getting ready for the next strike. It sounded all too close.

“Oh dracon. Nun de ge dei sei’kein kai emois epe’essin. Hepestai. Waes!”

The roar of the voice hollowing over the pass was so terrifying Arthur could not help but wonder where it had come from.  He was surprised to see the white haired sorcerer on the hill facing the beast and speaking to it in its own language.  Strangely and most unexpectedly the dragon reacted to his command like a scolded dog. It stopped in mid-air and stared at the old man in scorn, but then bowed its head and turned round to retreat.

Arthur watched in stunned amazement as the mighty beast disappeared in the dark clouds above the mountains.

 _That sorcerer has saved me twice in the course of a few minutes_.  Arthur took a sharp intake of breath, and it suddenly struck him with chilling clarity.

The prophecy. The king and the warlock. Emrys. 

Merlin.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur's heart stood still, and with it the world around him stopped moving.

Merlin.

The shock of the realization took his breath away and for a second his mind went totally blank, a blinding void descending upon him. All he could hear and feel was his heart drumming in his chest double-quick.

It can't be. Merlin and that sorcerer on the hill. How can they be the same?

The familiarity of the figure. A tiny gasp escaped his lips. Now he understood. But then, no, he did not really. It was impossible to comprehend.

Arthur's brain was trying to process it, to analyse and understand, but failed miserably. Yet, every ounce of common sense was screaming it at him: Merlin had magic.

And he had saved them all. Without him Morgana and the Saxons would have been victorious. Without his magic Camelot would have fallen.

Gratitude filled Arthur in the first instance followed shortly by a huge pang of guilt, when the inevitable conclusion struck him like lightning: His friend had neither lied to him nor been a coward.

Merlin had told him nothing but the truth.

 _That day_! was the on following thought. But what about all those days, months and years before that? That truth was even more mind-blowing.

Arthur allowed his heart to ache thoroughly and his feelings to run wild amok for a moment. There was a lot that would have to be said, considered and done. But now he had no time to linger on the matter. The aftermath of the battle had to be dealt with and needed his full attention. The moment to resolve their issues would undoubtedly come later.

oooooooooo

 

Merlin was walking along the narrow pass in search for Arthur. The Saxons were defeated and they were scarpering in all directions, but he hadn’t spotted Mordred amongst them.  That could mean only one thing.  Mordred was still out there looking for Arthur.

Merlin insides had clenched up into a tight ball, one thought consuming him totally. He had to find Arthur. This was the moment he’d feared for so long.  The moment which would decide whether Arthur lived or died.

He couldn’t afford to be late or the king would perish as it was predicted. But to be able to deny the prophecy its final prize he had to reach him first of all. If he failed now and Mordred succeeded in fulfilling his destiny, he wouldn’t only condemn Arthur but also everything he had fought for, and all the hopes he had for the future would never come to pass. Albion. A time of peace and prosperity. Magic being free again.

The warlock clambered frantically over bodies and fallen swords, paving his way through the carnage of the battle and getting more and more desperate as minute by minute passed and there was still no sign of the king.

 

oooooooooo

 

Arthur had knelt down next to a knight and held his hand as the man closed his eyes forever. He wasn’t aware of the quiet steps creeping up behind him, nor could he hear the fine ringing of a sword pulled out of its metal scabbard. 

“Turn round, murderer,” a voice threatened quietly.

Arthur recognized it immediately. 

Mordred. 

 _Watch out for Mordred! It is foretold that you will die by his hand._   Merlin’s warning was ringing through his head like a giant alarm bell.

His hand was quicker at his sword, he turned sooner round than he would have otherwise, and if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have caught Mordred’s sword lashing down at him. 

Mordred looked murderous.  He had waited for this moment ever since he had sat on the clammy floor of the castle’s dungeons and heard the crowds roar at the death of the woman he loved.  The whole new world he had felt part of had crashed around him at that moment.  And the man who was to blame for his misery, the man who he should have never trusted was there right before him. Arthur.

He had looked up to the king, admired him, he’d put him on a pedestal and would have died for him – but then Arthur had betrayed him in the most treacherous way. He’d ignored his pleas for clemency and taken away from him what meant so much, instead.

“I tried to pardon her.” Arthur made an attempt at rectifying the records.  But Mordred’s anger was way beyond reason. He gripped the sword Morgana had forged in a dragon’s breath firmly and the power emanating from it quickened his pulse and filled him with confidence and strength.

Swords were clashing heavily against each other, and Mordred used every trick in human combat Arthur had ever taught him. He’d been a good pupil and understood how to make the best of every little move and every angle.  He was fuelled by rage and the gratification that his moment of revenge had finally come, and he also knew that Arthur had been in battle for hours.  He was well aware that no man, not even the king, would be able to withstand the constant battering he was exposing him to after all the fighting he’d done already.

Arthur sensed Mordred’s advantage as his limbs were tiring slowly.  He had exerted himself through the night like never before and felt his energy draining away from him slowly.  He was undoubtedly the more skilled of the two, but Mordred was young and full of strength, but most of all, he was carried by a purpose.  The king blocked strike upon strike, retaliating as often as he was able to, but he couldn’t help but notice how his hand had started to tremble at the force of each blow. 

He never saw the dagger in Mordred’s other hand until the druid rammed it into his chest at full force. 

“You gave me no choice.” The hatred in his voice was as piercing as the blade that had lodged itself near Arthur’s heart.  

 _The prophecy_.  Arthur started losing control over his arms and legs and as his knees caved in, he sank on the ground with the odd thought that he had dreadfully underestimated the truths of the druids’ legends.

“This is the end, Arthur Pendragon.” Mordred smirked with satisfaction and raised his sword to strike the final blow.

“I don’t think so.” The voice was familiar to both of them. It was enough to stop Mordred in mid-movement.

“Emrys!” Mordred turned round to face the man who had been hailed as a saviour in druid legends for hundreds of years. _Saviour. What a joke!_ Merlin had always been too busy to pander to Camelot’s every whim, but had never put the needs of their own kind before everything else.  He could have been so much more to the druids and all people of magic. There was pure hatred in Mordred’s eyes.

“Merlin!”  Arthur pushed out the name between his teeth and couldn’t help but stare at the older form of his friend.  Emrys.  An old man with a long white beard and wavy hair. His red coat waving around his tall and regal figure.  Despite the growing weakness of his body, robbed of any fortitude by his injury, Arthur took in every detail of the figure trying to find the man he knew underneath.

At his outburst Merlin looked up and their eyes met. Blue locking with blue. There was a moment of clarity and truth in which all they saw was only each other. It was the longest second since the beginning of time.

 _He knows_. It shot through Merlin like a flash. _He finally understands._ Arthur’s incredulous look confirmed it.  But this was not the time to dwell on their argument now, far more important matters were pressing.

A golden glance and Mordred’s sword was sent flying, disarming the young man completely. 

But he reacted quicker to the attack than Merlin had anticipated.  The contempt Mordred felt and the anguish he had gone through, the resentment he held for both of the men in front of him and the cold anger that had filled him since his departure from Camelot had bubbled inside him for too long.  They were all let loose in the deafening scream he let out and the raw power of its magic blasted Merlin off his feet. 

As the warlock crashed on the rocky ground of the pass he was painfully aware that his older self, as powerful as he was, had unfortunately the body of an eighty year old man. When he hit the stony surface, his bones were shaken violently and feeling completely winded, he was unable to breathe.  His vision blurred and his head was spinning and for just a moment he was too paralyzed to act.

It was all Mordred needed.  He jumped forward, picked up his sword and ran the warlock through, as he lay on the ground helplessly. 

The immediate pain flooding Merlin’s body was excruciating and unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was like a fierce fire that had been lit burning him up from the inside and splitting his insides in two. It surged through every fibre of his body, slicing, piercing, scarring and clawing at the very force of his life.

“No mortal blade can kill me,” Merlin gasped, more to himself than to Mordred, feeling rather surprised at the blinding agony consuming him. He groaned breathily once and his body shook violently as it attempted to shake the force trying to end his life.  Darkness engulfed him rather too quickly and all further thoughts were swallowed by a sudden void.  Merlin’s body shuddered one more time and then he moved no more.

“But this sword was forged on a dragon’s breath,” Mordred replied with a satisfied grin, quite pleased with the sarcasm of his eulogy.

“No!”  Arthur’s scream could not have been more heart-wrenching.  With his arms and legs heavy from exhaustion and weakened by his injury he’d been unable to move. Blood was gushing out of his wound profusely and the tunic under his armour was turning darker rapidly.  With it his energy diminished further and further and he was struggling to keep conscious at all. Thus he had been condemned to remain useless and look on helplessly as Mordred slaughtered his friend before his very eyes.

 _Merlin!_   Every single ounce of his being screamed the name.  His friend who had just died for him.  It was all that mattered in this instant.  Everything else, even the magic, faded before that. Merlin had wanted to save him one more time and had paid for it with his own life.  Arthur winced, unwilling to believe what was staring in his face. 

 _No!  Merlin!_   He sobbed, overwhelmed by loss and despair. 

But what hit him even worse was that he knew that now, he would never be able to seek Merlin’s forgiveness.  Arthur couldn’t bear the thought that his friend had given everything for him, still in the belief that Arthur had rejected him. But it was too late for redemption now.

Rage was the immediate reaction and it gave him the extra strength he had lacked. He lifted his body halfway, grabbed the first sword he could find and stumbled towards Mordred in a last desperate effort.  The druid had bent over Merlin to ensure himself of his demise and was just about to put his finger on his neck to check his pulse.

He only realized too late that he had clearly underestimated Arthur’s stamina and valour.  When he turned round he was astonished to find the king just behind him.

“This is for Merlin;” Arthur whispered as he rammed the sword into Mordred’s chest and when he ripped it upwards to make sure it did its job properly, Mordred just glared at him and gave a defiant smile.  Then he collapsed on the floor, dead without as much as a whimper.

“Merlin…” The effort of the strike had robbed Arthur of his last strength and he had fallen on all fours.  But he knew he had to get to him, had to find his friend again, even if it was in death.  He was so weak he could scarcely breathe, but he had never been more determined to fulfil a task. It was a matter of sheer willpower, and it took every single drop of energy left in his battered and bruised body, but the king succeeded in dragging himself up next to Merlin, leaving a telling trail of red behind him as he crawled along the ground. 

When he was finally close enough, Arthur took Merlin’s hand, and his head sank onto his friend’s shoulder in total exhaustion. “Merlin,” he whispered, barely audible.  “I’m so sorry.”  He touched Merlin’s pale face with his trembling, blood-smeared hand tenderly. 

And as he did he watched in wonderment as the shape of Emrys slowly changed.  The white hair receded and the wrinkles disappeared.  The lips became fuller again and the skin softer and younger.  And before he could really comprehend what was happening, Merlin, the way Arthur knew him, was lying before him.

The sight was enough to completely break Arthur’s heart.  It made this all the more real and brought home that it really **was** his friend before him and not just an old sorcerer. 

Arthur cried out in anguish, but then his body and heart could take no more and darkness descended upon him with mercy.

ooooooooo

 

It was still dark over the pass of Camlann and an eerie silence had followed the previous tumble of the battle.  Death was ever prominent, but no tragedy was more poignant than that of the king and the warlock as they lay on the ground huddled together and their dripping blood mingling steadily in a crimson pool underneath their bodies.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing he heard were some birds singing as the sun was rising over Camlann. He felt the warmth of the early sunrays touch his blood-smeared face and slowly his other senses returned. He turned over slightly and the stabbing pain inside his chest immediately reminded him of what had happened.

 _I am still here, w_ as Merlin’s slightly surprised reaction at being alive, when he shouldn’t have been. 

 _So this is what lies ahead of me._ A little voice in his head told him.

 _Immortality_.  He couldn’t quite fathom the enormity of the concept, but for the moment he was glad that he wasn’t dead. It was strange to think that nothing could really harm him anymore, not even a sword forged on a dragon’s breath. Mordred’s blow had cut him right through the chest, but when Merlin felt for the wound he found it had sealed and that nothing but a scar had been left behind.  It was still red raw and had caused the earlier ache, but somehow he knew that even that discomfort would soon disappear. 

 _Arthur!_   Merlin’s eyes popped open in worried anticipation and realized that the dead weight that had been lying on his chest heavily was his friend.  Arthur’s head rested on his shoulder where he had collapsed earlier and his hand covered the spot protectively where Merlin’s open wound had been.

 _He must have believed me dead_.  Merlin swallowed hard.  _And he came to hold me before he lost consciousness._   The notion pulled firmly at his heartstrings.  But he could not afford to get sentimental about this just now.

Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s chest and was comforted to feel a regular heart-beat.  A sigh of relief escaped his mouth. All too soon, it seemed, because he noticed that the king was still bleeding, then.  Merlin had had enough training with Gaius to know that stemming the blood flow was a priority if the king wanted to live.  Thankfully this was one of the healing spells that Merlin had practised so often he was confident of its success.  He gently touched the bleeding wound and whispered the words that were needed.  The cut sealed up visibly and the blood flow stopped almost in an instant. Merlin noted it gratified. This should give Arthur a fighting chance.

The warlock looked around to find Mordred’s body crumpled on the ground behind them. _Arthur must have killed him.  I wonder how he managed it,_ he wondered shaking his head in disbelief.  Only a brilliant warrior like Arthur was able to pull this off when he had been so badly injured himself.

Suddenly the sound of approaching voices startled Merlin out of his thoughts. In the far distant men started appearing. Men, clad in the colours of Camelot.

In a flash Merlin realized how precarious his situation was.

There was no way he could return to Camelot with them. Arthur had recognized him.  Knew about his magic. But how would he react when they came face to face again?  Merlin had wondered about this for so many years.  What Arthur would say and do once he found out. 

Judging by the king’s recent actions Merlin was less sure now than before that he would accept him for what he was.  Arthur had embraced him when he thought he was dead.  However, it was one thing mourning a person when your judgement was clouded by grief, and a completely different one to deal with uncomfortable matters in the cold light of day.

Of course it didn’t help that the laws of Camelot had never changed.  The practice of sorcery was still a crime to be punished by death. True, no sorcerer had been sentenced to burn on the stake under Arthur’s reign, but the law was upheld nonetheless.  Not to forget that Arthur had actually dismissed him and sent him away in anger with no questions asked. 

No, he would have to wait and see what Arthur would decide to do. Going back to Camelot at this point was simply taking a risk too many. And if Merlin was honest with himself – he was also scared. He was scared of being rejected or worse hated by the man he loved like a brother for who he was.

The voices had come a lot closer now and Merlin had to make a decision. _They are looking for survivors_ , he thought, scanning through the approaching group of men. He made out the wavy white hair and the brown cloak of a familiar figure in an instant. Gaius.

 _They will find Arthur in no time_.  Merlin was relieved.  _He will be safe with Gaius._   He would have liked to tell Gaius that he was alright, and always would be, but he did not want to take the risk of other men seeing him. He had no other choice than go.

And so he gently lifted Arthur’s head off his body, scrambled up and stumbled along the pass until he found shelter behind a huge rock. He took one last look back and saw Gaius bending over Arthur checking his pulse, then calling some men over with a stretcher.

Merlin swallowed hard and then headed in the opposite direction.

 

oooooooooo

 

“Arthur!”  The voice sounded familiar.

“Arthur!” There it was again.  Anguish and worry were ringing in the one word.

_Guinevere._

The king slowly opened his eyes to realize he was in his own bed and that Gwen was sitting at his side, her eyes rimmed with black and the signs of tears spent not long ago. 

‘”Guinevere,” he whispered and attempted to stroke her tired, exhausted looking face.

Gwen sobbed and embraced him gently.  In relief she brushed his lips with a careful kiss. Thank the gods, he was awake.

“What happened?” Arthur was struggling to remember.

“You were badly wounded and lost a lot of blood,” Gwen explained and squeezed his hand almost too tight.

Arthur’s head was spinning, unable to recall any recent events.

“Camlann,” Gwen mumbled silently.  “You almost died.”

A wave of heat shot through Arthur’s body as his memory flooded back in a split second. Camlann. Mordred. Merlin.

“What….?”  Arthur tried to ask, but Gwen wasn’t having any of it.

“You’ve been sleeping for three days now.  You need to rest further for your wound to heal.”

His wound.  He tried to move, but the pain at his side immediately made him regret the spontaneous decision.  He groaned loudly and decided that keeping still might be the wisest option for the moment being.

The battle.  The slaughter.  Mordred seeking revenge and…. Merlin.  Arthur gulped breathily.  Gwen had not mentioned it. Was she trying to be kind?  Did she attempt to spare him from the truth he knew he had to face?  He had to know for sure that Merlin was not anymore.  He would only believe it if it was officially confirmed.  _They must have found his body_. Gwen would have heard…

“Merlin?” Arthur uttered the one word question hoarsely.

Gwen looked at him totally bewildered.  _He is thinking of Merlin_.  She thought.  _He is still confused._

“Merlin’s gone,” she explained patiently, while trying to keep her own disappointment out of her voice.  It seemed strange that Merlin had simply disappeared and had not even returned after the battle.

Gwen didn’t realize the turmoil of feelings she was stirring.  Arthur had expected the blow but it still hit the core of his being.  His friend was dead, gone forever, without knowing how much his help had been appreciated.  Arthur groaned again, but unbeknownst to Gwen it wasn’t his physical wound that caused his pain.

“He never returned to Camelot,”  Gwen continued and could not fathom why Arthur would look so puzzled.

Arthur felt utterly confused now. How could Merlin have returned if he was dead?

“Since the argument you had before the battle,” Gwen finished, sensing that further explanation was needed.

Arthur closed his eyes in realization that he had mistaken Gwen’s words and that Merlin’s body had obviously not been found.

He couldn’t understand it.  He’d witnessed Mordred taking the life of his friend. Nobody would have survived a cut like that. Straight through the chest.

Arthur’s thinking blurred.  It was too much to take in.  There had to be an explanation, but for the moment he could think no further.  And at that he sank into a deep recovering sleep.

oooooooooo

 

Two weeks later Arthur was able to sit up again. He was aware he hadn’t exactly been the most tolerant of patients, but he had listened to Gaius, had rested as instructed, taken his medicine and let Guinevere relish in pampering him.

As a result he had been recovering very well and Gaius was pleased at the progress he was making.  Yet, Gaius and Gwen were unaware his heart was still bearing scars that didn’t want to heal so easily.

Merlin’s body had never been found.  They had retrieved Mordred’s and given him a decent burial.  Morgana had most certainly survived and escaped, and Arthur noted duly that this would inevitably mean more hard times for Camelot at some point.

But nobody, it seemed, had seen his servant, since the night he had left the castle. Gwaine had reported he’d left him near a cave in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, but that had been quite a while before the battle. It was as if Merlin had vanished from the face of the earth.

Arthur could find no satisfactory answer why Merlin’s body should disappear like that, apart from the most unlikely one. That Merlin had survived that night.  Not that he had a chance to even begin to grasp how this was possible because he would have sworn on his life that he’d seen his friend die.  But what if magic had been involved….?

He certainly preferred this version of events rather than face up to the idea that Merlin would never return. Because it gave him a tiny bit of hope.  He missed Merlin more than he was ready to admit. His cheeky smile, the silly jokes he cracked, the insolent remarks he’d grown so accustomed to and the fact that he was always there for him.  Every time a patrol returned Arthur hoped that their search had been unsuccessful so he could cling on the hope of seeing his friend again.  The king often had to stop himself lingering on the thought before the pain cutting through his insides became totally unbearable.

He almost begrudged the fact that being bedridden as he was he had far too much time on his hands to think about the events of the previous days. In fact, he didn’t much else, as his brain was trying to cope with the plethora of questions and emotions tangling up his insides.

First there was the guilt.  Merlin had been truthful to him that blasted day before the battle, yet he had not listened as a friend should have been. Yes, he could make excuses for himself considering the dire situation and the strangeness of Merlin’s story, but still, he had not even given him a chance to explain himself. And then Merlin had saved them all, and his own life.  If Merlin was really gone Arthur would never be able to rectify his wrongdoing, and the injustice of his action would leave an open wound in his heart forever.

Then there was such a lot of confusion and uncertainty when he considered Merlin’s revelation. 

Merlin and magic.  He had seen it before his very eyes, but the more he considered it the more he struggled combining the two. How could the Merlin he knew, the clumsy, bumbling, innocently-eyed, insolent servant be the same as the determined, powerful warlock on the hill who had wielded magic beyond comprehension?  

Arthur kept digging in his memory to find any evidence of the fact. No doubt, there had been times when he had wondered about a lucky escape or a strange explanation Merlin had given.  But it would have never occurred to him to link it to magic and certainly not to Merlin being a sorcerer. 

He was aghast at the thought how Merlin must have lived for so many years.  Always looking behind his back, always on the pyre with one foot, no doubt always fearing for his life. How had he been able to live a lie day in day out without losing his mind?  And how had Merlin lived for so long at Camelot without getting caught?

Then it hit Arthur.  If his memory served him right Merlin actually **had** been accused of sorcery at least three times.  Arthur was so shocked at the realization he almost forgot to breathe.

The first time he had tried to save Gwen and took the blame for the magical poultice that had healed her father. _By the gods_. _Merlin did tell the truth then!_   Arthur gasped.  

The second time the Witchfinder had narrowed his search for a sorcerer at the court down to Merlin _.  How odd that the man died after he had been spitting frogs all over the place!_  Arthur’s lips were twitching involuntarily at the thought.  It seemed that Merlin had known how to defend himself and his secret out of the shadows.

And then he had ended up in the dungeons, branded as a sorcerer at the time when Gaius had been possessed by a Goblin.  And he himself had never believed a word of it.  _How many close shaves had the man had?_

Arthur found himself shaking his head again and again. Had he ever truly known his friend?  Merlin and magic. It was inconceivable.  How was it possible he had never noticed?

But there was one thing that lay heavier on Arthur’s mind than anything else and he had stopped telling himself that it didnt bother him. Because it did. 

Merlin had lied to him for all those years. Pretended to be who he wasn’t.  Had acted behind his back. It hurt. Badly.

Of course Arthur was honest enough with himself to appreciate why Merlin would have wanted to keep his magic a secret when Uther had still been king.  His father would have never condoned even the most benevolent use of magic and it was doubtful whether he could have done anything for his friend if he’d been found out.

 _But why…_ Arthur thought.  _Why did he never tell **me**?  _ There was only one answer Arthur could come up with, and he didn’t like the taste of it.

 _Because he didn’t trust me enough._ It glared in his face and dug deeply into his heart. It reflected that they hadn’t had the relationship he thought.  He’d trusted Merlin implicitly, but Merlin obviously had never returned the sentiment. 

And with the guilt, the confusion, the rejection and hurt came another emotion Arthur would have never admitted to. 

There was a little bit of fear. Well, it was not really fear, he assured himself, it was more an anxious niggle.  He had witnessed what Merlin’s magic was capable of and had seen what destructive forces he could command.

“I use it for you, only for you,” Merlin had sworn to him about his magic only a few days ago.

How could Arthur be sure of that?  A sorcerer like that could take whatever he wanted.  Whenever he wanted.  What if his final aim was to win Camelot for himself?  _Would he not have done that a long time ago if this had been his purpose?_ Arthur contradicted his own accusation, scolding himself for his lack of trust.

On the odd occasion the king had seen magic do some good, but most of the times it had been used as a force of destruction and savagery.  It had corrupted Morgana and filled her with hatred. What assurances did he have that this would not happen to Merlin?  His heart told him that the Merlin he knew would and could never do anything like that.  But his reason and the habit of a lifetime forced him to be wary and not to believe too much too soon.

Still, despite the hurt and the uncertainty, the doubts and the worry, the overwhelming desire was to find Merlin alive.  To see his friend again and to make amends with him.  What Arthur wanted most of all was solutions he could understand and explanations that made sense.  He had so many questions, was seeking so many answers, yet the only person to quench his thirst for the truth was not there. 

But maybe there was somebody else who would be able to shed at least some light on the matter. And when Merlin hadn’t been found, neither alive nor dead, after four weeks, Arthur could bear it no longer and finally took heart to call upon that person.

 

ooooooooo

 

“Are you feeling unwell, Sire?” Gaius asked and his face was clouded with worry.

“I am fine, Gaius,” Arthur smiled and he waved the old man to come closer.

The old physician searched Arthur’s face.  He’d been waiting for this call for a few days.  He had watched the king’s efforts to find Merlin, but had remained silent for a good reason.  Gaius had felt so proud of Merlin when he had beaten the Saxons and saved them all.  When the young warlock had vanished without a trace or a message Gaius knew there could be only one reason for it. 

Merlin didn’t feel able to return because he was unsure of his welcome and his safety. There was no way Gaius was going to compromise him.

“Gaius…,”Arthur paused before he actually started, not sure how to bring up the subject. 

“Merlin.’” He was looking at the old physician intently.  “He was there with me at Camlann.”

“He was the sorcerer on the hill,” he rasped and God did it feel strange to hear the words out loud.

Gaius gave Arthur a knowing look, and Arthur realized instantaneously he hadn’t exactly been the bearer of complete news.

“You knew,” he stated with resignation and sighed, although he wasn’t really that surprised.

“He is a warlock, Sire,” Gaius said and Arthur snorted, marginally disgruntled at being corrected about this yet again. 

“Merlin was born with magic,” Gaius explained quietly and calmly. “He was doing magic before he could even talk.”

Arthur just looked at the court physician, momentarily silenced by the incredibility of it. Gaius raised that infamous eyebrow and then listened closely to Arthur’s account of their fight with Mordred.

“So he lived after he died,” Gaius mumbled to himself, totally stunned and ignoring that Arthur could make no head or tails of the odd comment.  But then the old physician continued.

“When I found you, Sire, your wound had already been treated.  The bleeding had stopped and it had started to heal.”

“You think Merlin did that?” Arthur made the conclusion with hesitation, his heart suddenly beating faster in hope.

“I’m sure of it, Sire.  It seems that Merlin, however unlikely it may seem, is still alive.”

Arthur’s head popped up at the news.  He’d refused to believe that Merlin was dead without the physical evidence for it.  But hearing his hopes hadn’t been just that was exhilarating.

“He seems very powerful,” he finally continued with an air of uncertainty.

“Some say he’s the most powerful wizard ever to walk this earth,” Gaius replied and Arthur detected pride in his voice.

“Merlin?” Arthur exclaimed disbelievingly, his eyes widening at the unexpected revelation.

“Do we have to fear him?” he blurted out before he knew it, the old mistrust surfacing openly.

“He is your friend, Sire.”  Gaius put his hand on Arthur’s imploringly. “Surely you know he would never mean you any harm?  He saved us all at Camlann!”

There was a short silence and Gaius eyebrows did a lively danceas he was searching Arthur’s face. Whatever he saw caused his forehead wrinkling deeply with worry.

“Do you remember what I told you the day when I was returned safely to Camelot after I was kidnapped?” Gaius sought the gaze of the king.  Arthur could recall some of the words, in fact he had thought of them again and again because he had never fully understood them.

“I’m not the only one seeking to protect you,” Gaius had explained to him then. “There are many more that believe in the world you are trying to create.  One day you will learn and you will understand, just how much they’ve done for you.” And it had sounded a little bit like a lecture.

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath. “You were talking about Merlin!” He had put two and two together correctly. “And the prophecy.”

Gaius nodded. “No one has sacrificed more for you and this kingdom than Merlin, Sire,” he said emphatically. “The time to understand is now.”

Arthur suddenly went all quiet as his mind was doing somersaults. It seemed he had never seen the full picture of what was going on in Camelot and that he’d never been aware of all forces at work for so many years.

“I need to find him, Gaius,” he muttered urgently. “I need to know…”

Gaius nodded.  “Go and look for him Arthur. He deserves to be heard.”

“Where would _you_ look for him?” Arthur enquired, hoping for an answer.

“Go to the big cave in the Forest of Ascetir. The Crystal Cave is the birthplace of magic.”  Then Gaius pondered further. ‘If he isn’t there he might have taken shelter with the druids.”

The old physician searched the face of the man he had known since he was a little boy. _I hope this will turn out for the good,_ he thought, knowing how headstrong either of the two of them could be.

“I need to settle this once and for all.” Arthur knew exactly now what he had to do.

 

oooooooooo

 

The druids had welcomed him with open arms.  Iseldir, their white-haired leader, had made it very clear that he felt honoured to give shelter to Emrys and that he was more than happy for Merlin to stay as long as he liked.  

Merlin had needed a safe haven like this.  He hadn’t realized how much the worry about Arthur and the prophecy had taken out of him over the last few months. The powerful magic he’d used in the battle and the remains of his injury had added to the overall state of the severe exhaustion he suffered from. 

He was weary in body and mind and being with the druids was like balm on the essence of his being.  They made sure he ate and slept and knew when to leave him in peace to sleep or think.  Merlin was more than grateful for all of it, but what renewed his energy most was the fact that he felt at ease for the first time for many years.

Of course Arthur was never far from his mind.  He’d heard of the search parties that had been sent to find him and he had been informed that the king was recovering well. But Merlin was still unsure what his next step should be.

Should he return to Camelot and present himself to Arthur?  He hadn’t dismissed the idea, but had rejected it as the right way forward at this moment.

Arthur had been brought up to hate and despise sorcery and to see it as a force of evil, and the mistrust was deeply ingrained in his heart.  Even if he had doubted these beliefs at times he’d never revealed them openly, and Morgana’s hateful attempts to end all their lives repeatedly wouldn’t have helped to change his view on the matter. 

Arthur would also realize by now that everything that had happened between them was not as straightforward as he’d thought, and knowing Arthur, he wouldn’t like that a bit.

 _But despite it all, he wanted to hold me when he thought I was dead._ Merlin recapitulated again and again, but then refused to linger on the thought as it expressed the hope that maybe, for some reason, Arthur had forgiven him.  He pushed the idea away because he knew he couldn’t bear to see it squashed. 

Merlin had always believed in Arthur and who he had become and, yes, the king had softened his stance on the druids and allowed them back into the citadel to do their business.  But as much as Merlin tried, he couldn’t ignore the little voice in the back of his mind urging him to be careful above everything.  

What if Arthur considered him as yet another person, just like Morgana and Agravaine, who had been close to him and then had betrayed him in the end?

And each time he considered it, he decided to bide his time a little longer and wait. 

What exactly for, he couldn’t have put his finger on.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It took two months before Arthur was fit enough to get on a horse again. Then he set out with one of two younger knights to find Merlin. The caves Gaius had spoken about were empty without a soul in sight anywhere.

That left nothing but the druid camp at the other side of the forest. They were quite close to it when Arthur heard voices. He gestured his knights to fall behind him while he dismounted his horse and crept up to the bushes ahead to see who was in front of them.

He spotted a group of men, women and children, by their looks of it, all druids. They seemed to be returning from a trip into the forest to collect herbs and berries and had decided to stop for a short break. Then all of a sudden a tall gangly figure with a mop of dark hair broke away from the crowd to sit on a rock at the far end of the clearing.

Merlin. Arthur's heart missed a beat. Seeing his friend alive before his very eyes sent tiny shock waves of delight through his body and his heart was beating noticeably faster as he took in every detail of Merlin's appearance.

Merlin looked well and had quite obviously recovered from the wounds he had received in the battle. In fact, Arthur thought, almost begrudgingly, that he had never looked better. The dark rings that had rimmed his eyes so often in recent months had gone and been replaced by a fresher and younger look and he seemed to hold himself in a lighter, more upright way, almost as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

At that moment a young girl came running up to him. “Emrys,” she shouted excitedly.

“Can you fix it, please.” She held up her little broken toy, her tiny face full of expectation.

Merlin smiled and Arthur gasped when his eyes flashed golden and the toy mended.

“Thank you.” The little girl beamed and ran away as Merlin's eyes followed her, smiling fondly.

“Emrys!” Some older children were approaching him a little more careful, as if they didn’t want to be disrespectful.

“Stop bothering Emrys,” one of the older woman called, but Merlin just waved his hand and waited for the children to come to him. One tiny boy, no older than six, stood on his tiptoes so he could whisper something in his ear.

Merlin smiled at him and then cupped his hands. The excitement of the children was tangible and even Arthur could not help but stare in anticipation. Then Merlin's lips moved with some inaudible words and after another flash of gold he opened his hands for a beautiful yellow butterfly to emerge and fly away. The children clapped their hands and cried out in delight.

“More!” They shouted pleadingly and at that Merlin cupped his hands again, let his eyes shine golden and then threw them open high above his head. A huge swarm of the most colourful butterflies appeared, fluttering gracefully around their heads, and the light of the afternoon sun heightened the colours of their delicately patterned wings.

Arthur held his breath at the peace, the beauty and the happiness of the scene. He’d never seen magic used like this before. Merlin had created life with his bare hands, and it all felt so natural and easy. It was pure and breathtakingly beautiful at the same time.

The king noted how the older druids had stopped and admired the grace of the colourful creatures. There were a lot of smiles and approving nods. And there was something much more. Reverence and appreciation. Arthur sensed it clearly. These people held Merlin dear in their hearts, but they also bowed before his magic.

And Merlin? Arthur could not remember seeing him as carefree before. His eyes were beaming and he’d blossomed when he practised his magic for the people around him.

 _He looks so happy._ It was like a stab in Arthur's heart. Merlin felt at home with the druids. It was blatantly obvious. Here he could be who he was and didn’t have to hide. He could use his powers freely without being frowned upon. Here he was who he was destined to be – the greatest warlock of all times and he was treated accordingly.

Why would he have wanted to return to the confines of Camelot where he was nothing but a mere servant and all sorcery meant was contempt and death?

Arthur cleared his throat quietly. _Maybe I shouldn’t have come_. He told himself rather pained. _Maybe he sees his business with Camelot as concluded._

But the king had come for answers and was thirsty for the complete truth. He didn’t want to leave without it, and he didn’t want to give up that easily on his ultimate goal - to take Merlin back home with him.

With that in mind he stepped forward to make himself known.

The druids looked up when they saw him approach and Iseldir, their white-haired leader walked towards him to raise his hand in friendship. 'Arthur Pendragon!' he exclaimed as if in surprise.

Arthur lifted his eyebrows and smiled as he greeted the man he’d met repeatedly over the years. 'Iseldir.' Arthur acknowledged him, but his eyes had linked with the blue ones not far behind the druid leader.

Merlin's heart had stopped momentarily when Arthur had appeared out of nowhere in the clearing. Its beat had accelerated to double speed and the blood rushing through his veins flushed his face, causing an outbreak of sweat.

Arthur. He had come.

The moment of truth he’d been waiting for since the first day they had met had finally arrived.

Oooooooooo

 

The druids left them alone to move on to their settlement, and the king and the warlock sat down together at a fire as they had done so many times before. It was where they'd had their most earnest and heartfelt conversations and it felt so familiar, but yet so strange. Each man waited awkwardly for the other to start to speak and the longer the silence lasted the more uncomfortable it became.

“All those years, Merlin. You lied to me.” It broke out of Arthur finally and he immediately regretted the outburst. This was not what he had come to say and it was certainly not how he had wanted to start. But this was what hurt him most, what had gone straight to his core, and he hadn’t been able to help himself, as the words had simply escaped.

Merlin clenched his teeth at the accusation. There was nothing he could say to defend himself because this was the truth. He **had** lied to Arthur for years - there was no denying it. Merlin lowered his gaze and stared into the fire with an expression as blank as he could possibly muster. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“I trusted you,” Arthur added more pained than before as he watched Merlin visibly cringe.

 _So he doesn’t trust me anymore_. The warlock concluded and his heart was sinking. Arthur was judging him with the same disappointment in his eyes as he had done not long ago, even if the reason was a different one. Merlin could have handled anger, but Arthur's anguish was far more devastating.

Little did he realize that he didn’t quite grasp why Arthur was so hurt. The lies were hard to swallow but the fact that Merlin had never trusted him enough to share his secret was far more painful for the king.

Merlin wanted to answer, but a huge lump in his throat seemed to have robbed him of his voice. “I am sorry.” He forced himself to answer after a pause, his voice crackling at the edges. It was all he managed to say. He was far too busy keeping his heart from falling apart.

“I thought I knew you.” Arthur dug even deeper and the hurt that poured out of his voice, almost against his will, was mixed with underlying annoyance. It had been hard to accept that the man he’d considered his closest friend had turned out to be not quite who he’d thought he was.

“I’m still the same person,” Merlin said as if he’d been able to read Arthur's thoughts. He spoke calmly, but his eyes, dancing around nervously, betrayed what was really going on inside him. “Having magic doesn’t change who you are.”

Arthur searched Merlin's face carefully. He noticed the furrowed brows, the sadness in his eyes and the resignation clouding his expression. It seemed that Merlin felt as hurt as himself.

Silence settled between them again, both burdened by the discord of the situation, neither sure how on earth they would continue from here. It certainly hadn’t been a good start.

“Why did you never tell me?” Arthur was the first to break the void again, rejection dominating the question.

“I did,” Merlin stated matter of fact, and Arthur blushed at the mention of _that_ afternoon and a wave of guilt washed over him.

“I mean, why did you never tell me before?” Arthur rephrased his question carefully.

Merlin cleared his throat. ”I wanted to…,” he paused. “So often … the right time never came.” He averted his eyes and his head sank to his chest. “The law…..'

Of course the law condemning sorcery still existed. _What would I have done if I had found out?_ This was one point Arthur hadn’t considered in depth before. He had been too swallowed up in coping with the hard facts of reality. His mind went blank for a second.

“I’m not sure what I would have done,” Arthur replied honestly after a minute's thought and was taken aback by his own admission. It seemed like a betrayal after all he’d seen Merlin do for him and the kingdom at Camlann.

“You would have chopped my head off.” Merlin laughed nervously, hoping the edgy joke would smooth over how uncertain he’d always been about this and, at the same time, testing the waters what Arthur was thinking about it now.

“Surely you don’t believe _that_.” Arthur was quite indignant at the suggestion, looking rather shocked.

“I hoped you would not.” Merlin avoided giving a direct answer. “But I didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to choose between me and the law.'

“That's what worried you most?” Arthur exclaimed totally flabbergasted by his answer. What he had considered as a matter of distrust was a case of Merlin putting his king's feelings and needs above his own. He had simply wanted to spare him this moral dilemma _._

 _He kept his secret because he didn’t want to burden me_. Arthur quickly drew a breath and felt his throat dry up. He tried to catch Merlin's gaze, but the warlock had lowered his eyes as if he was ashamed by his confession.

Silence spread again, as Merlin stared into the fire while Arthur's finger kept wondering restlessly over the hilt of his sword as if he was looking for some comfort in the touch of his weapon. But both felt the slight change in atmosphere. The tension had lifted a shade although it was still thick with apprehension.

The small fire they’d started earlier was dwindling away quickly as the half damp branches started to quench the little flames. Automatically Merlin picked some of the tiny dry branches some druid girl had left behind for them to rekindle the fire.

“Why don't you use magic?” There was a cagey challenge in the way Arthur asked and some curiosity.

Merlin gave Arthur a short glance, then his eyes lit up and the fire was burning at full strength in no time.

“Feels strange,” Merlin muttered. Arthur had seen him practise magic that night at Camlann, but using it here, right before his eyes, even if it was for something as simple as this, seemed oddly unnerving.

“Yeah,” Arthur conceded, wondering if he would ever get used to see Merlin's eyes changing to gold.

“I watched you with the children earlier,” he admitted, thinking back to that moment of serene beauty.

A smile appeared on Merlin's lips. “The butterflies. They love them.”

“You created life.” Arthur couldn’t help but sounding awed.

Merlin just shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgment. “It comes with the job.” He replied modestly, really smiling for the first time as he noticed the wonderment in Arthur's comment. Hope was flooding him and a tinge of nervous expectation.

“You practised magic for all those years?” Arthur knew it was a rhetoric question.

Merlin just grimaced and lifted up his hands in innocence. “It was the only way how to protect you,” he sighed and added a bit cheekily. “And you certainly needed a lot of protecting.”

Arthur's face was one big question mark. “What do you mean?” He had always thought he was doing quite well looking after himself. But considering what Gaius had told him it was obvious there had been a lot more to his life than he’d realized so far.

_You don't know how many times I have saved your life._

_I swear I will protect you or die by your side._

Merlin had said things like that many times throughout the years, but Arthur had taken them as tokens of affection and loyalty rather than hard fact.

“Let me show you,” Merlin said as he moved towards Arthur, closing the gap between them in two steps.

“What are you doing?” Arthur gave him a slightly puzzled look.

“I can share my memories with you,” Merlin explained, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea to suggest this.

“You want to use your magic on me?” There was an almost unnoticeable tremble in Arthur’s voice but Merlin was too well tuned to him not to hear it.

“I can also _tell_ you what happened, but it’ll take a lot longer.” Merlin conceded, hesitating because he didn’t want to spook Arthur with too much magic too soon. There was nothing more though he wanted than to show Arthur the truth and prove to him that he deserved his trust, and always had.

Arthur just sized up his friend for a second and he sensed how serious he was. _He’s noticed that I was quite apprehensive about this_ , he thought in slight embarrassment.

This was Merlin. His friend. The one who had saved his life at Camlann and won the battle for Camelot. Why did he even hesitate?

“Go ahead then.” Arthur gave his approval, this time with a lot more conviction.

“You're certain?” Merlin asked again.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried out in exasperation and the mock irritated tone of his voice was so familiar to both them, neither could help a tiny smile. And Arthur went a step further with a tease. “You're sure your memories are worth all this?”

“Very sure.” This time Merlin's face split into one of his characteristic smiles and Arthur returned it readily. Both had fallen back into their usual banter easily and they relished the much needed relief from the tension that had been hanging over them.

Then Merlin gently put his fingertips against Arthur's forehead and closed his eyes. Slowly he started chanting the spell which would allow Arthur to relive a few of the most memorable events of the past from Merlin's point of view, when suddenly a strange noise startled him.

It sounded like … wheezing.


	7. Chapter 7

He opened his eyes to find his friend staring at him in utter terror and disbelief.

 “I can’t breathe,” Arthur croaked barely audibly. Merlin was horrified to see Arthur gasping for air and raising his hands to his throat when he found he couldn’t get any.

“What … are … you ... doing?” Arthur squeezed the words out with maximum effort, his eyes wide open in complete shock and bewilderment.  He recoiled from Merlin’s touch violently as the name of his friend hung on his lips in a strangled whisper. “M....er…lin?”

 _Is he thinking I’m the cause of this?_ Merlin’s heart missed a beat at the thought.

He immediately lowered his arm staring back at the king in confusion, and the fear and distrust expressed in Arthur’s eyes was like a slap into his face.  It was a look Merlin had hoped he would never see. A look that embodied everything he had never wanted Arthur to feel … about him and about magic.

 _What’s happening?_   Merlin’s brain tried frantically to make sense of it.

Suddenly the expression in Arthur’s eyes changed and his gaze wandered past his shoulder, settling somewhere behind him.  It seemed to desperately communicate something while he was struggling to keep his breathing regular.

Just then Merlin sensed the presence of a magical being and as he whisked round a hooded figure appeared out of the shadows of the forest.

“Seems I’m interrupting something.” A rather satisfied, but intensely cold voice came from the edge of the clearing while Arthur’s panting grew louder and more pained by the second.

Morgana.

She had licked her wounds after Camlann and mourned Mordred with an intensity that bordered on insanity. Revenge was all that had been on her mind since that day. The sooner, the better.  When her spies had reported that Arthur had left Camelot, virtually on his own she’d welcomed it as the opportune moment to finally get even with him _and_ with Merlin, because it hadn’t been difficult to guess that this was where Arthur was headed.  When she’d found them, unprotected by knights or druids at a fireside, she knew her hour had come.

“It’s time to say good bye, brother,” Morgana spat out the last word as if it was poisonous. “You may have won the battle, but now you’ve lost the war.” 

And at that she raised her arm to finish off what she’d started, but Merlin was more than ready for her.  With a wave of his hand he blocked the spell she was aiming at Arthur and then blew some air into his fist to conjure a giant fireball.  With a flick of his wrist he sent it flying towards Morgana. It was so fast all she could do to avoid getting hit was jump out of its path. It hit the tree behind her in full force and the splinters of the wood showered her as she lay on the ground.

Morgana hadn’t expected the quick retort, but she was a High Priestess of the Old Religion and not beaten that easily.

“Brynewielm and æledfýr!” she shouted as she raised herself from the floor like a phoenix from the ashes. The flames of the fire suddenly seemed to explode into the mellow evening air and they engulfed Merlin from top to toe. 

“Acwencaþ!”Merlin shouted in return and the next second the flames around him were extinguished.  He lifted his arm and a blast of raw magic hit Morgana which sent her flying across the clearing.  When her body crashed on the ground she moaned in agony and, immobilized by the power of the fall for a second, the spell that was threatening Arthur’s life was broken.

Merlin sighed inwardly with relief when he heard Arthur spluttering as air started flowing freely through his lungs again.The warlock had never felt so sure about what to do next.

“You’ve caused so much suffering, Morgana.” Resentment was ringing in his voice, but it was steady and unfaltering.

“This has to end,” he stated matter of fact, and with certainty and finality.

Arthur was still fighting the pain in his lungs and the weakness of his body after Morgana’s attack so all he could do was watch as the man who’d cleaned his boots, mucked out the stables and polished his armour for so many years walked up to a High Priestess of the Old Religion without any fear or hesitation.  The power emanating from him was almost tangible and Arthur couldn’t help but feel awe at his steely strength and uncompromising determination.

Morgana’s eyes were widening further and further the nearer Merlin came. 

 _Emrys. He is your doom and your destiny._ The voice of the Cailleach hollowed in her head, and for the fraction of a second she thought she might just be able to beat the blasted prophecy that had made her life a misery for years.  She lifted her arm to call upon the most deathly of spells, but before she could even think about it she felt a crippling pain around her heart.

Merlin had formed a tight fist and the firmer he closed it, the stronger the grip around her heart became. Morgana just stared at the warlock, shell-shocked that the man she had known for so many years should wield so much power.  An uncontrolled sob escaped her when she felt the extent of it and she finally, finally understood she had no chance against him.

“You will do no more,” he whispered, undeterred by the terror written all over the witch’s face.

“Emrys.” Morgana trembled as she mumbled his name. Was there really no way out of this predicament? Maybe there was one thing left she could try? “You could have saved me,” she said, hoping to distract him by appealing to his good heart.

Merlin had reached the witch by now and looked straight in her eyes. “You chose the path of your destiny yourself, Morgana.” 

Anger rushed through her when she heard his words and in a last desperate effort she mumbled a spell that ripped Arthur’s sword out of its scabbard and aimed it straight at Merlin’s heart. 

“Merlin!”  Arthur rasped hoarsely, barely able to utter a sound, but the worry he might lose his friend gave him the strength to vocalize the warning. “Watch out!”

Merlin heard him was well aware of what was happening. It took only a nod of his head and a golden glow of his eyes to redirect the sword while accelerating its fall and as it did, it went straight past himself to lodge itself firmly in Morgana’s chest.  When it hit the witch a look of disbelief spread across her face, and she just stared at the weapon in her body dubiously.

Instinctively she knew the excruciating pain shooting though her body was such it could only be caused by a sword forged on a dragon’s breath. The prophecy. It had finally caught up with her and there was nothing, nothing at all she could do about it anymore.

A last whimper and Morgana slumped on the ground lifeless.

A moment of deadly silence followed and both, Arthur and Merlin, took a few moments to take stock of what had happened.  The king was still on his knees and hadn’t found the energy to rise again.

“Are you alright?”  Merlin sounded anxious as he helped his friend to sit up properly again. Arthur gave a faint smile and nodded.

“Told you, you needed a lot of protecting,” Merlin mumbled between his teeth, but Arthur had heard it and looked at him most indignantly, still too exhausted to manage more than a twinge on his lips.

“We’ll finally have peace,” Arthur said breathily after a minute, and his heart lightened at the thought that no one in Camelot would have to fear another attack by the woman who had once been his sister, ever again.  A surge of hope for the future flooded him.

“I do blame myself for what she became in the end,” Merlin whispered more to himself than anything.

“You can’t take the burden of her failures onto your shoulders, Merlin,” Arthur replied gasping for air after every second word. “I also often wondered what I could have done … to save her.”

“I was better placed than you to help her, yet I didn’t,” Merlin mumbled guiltily.

He glanced at Arthur quickly, but avoided looking directly into his eyes.  “It would have meant sharing my secret and exposing you to unknown dangers.”

“You did that for me…’  Arthur muttered in contemplation but before he could say anything else Merlin passed a water skin to him and the king gulped down a few sips. Then Merlin started to carefully remove the outer armour that was restraining Arthur’s breathing. It was the act of a servant and he’d done it so many times before, but this time it felt like much more than that.  There was tenderness and genuine compassion in every movement, and Arthur sensed it and was touched by it.

However, when he looked up he saw Merlin’s eyes boring into his.

“You thought it was me when Morgana attacked…,” Merlin said somewhat accusingly, but crestfallen at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur didn’t know what else he could say or do. It was true. The old fears had surfaced when he had felt magic squeezing the air out of him and they had drowned what his heart had been screaming at him. _This can’t be Merlin’s doing._

Yet, he’d lost too many people to sorcery, had felt the pain of losing a person he loved to witchcraft too often and years of warnings against any form of magic had been ingrained in his mind. No, he wasn’t proud of his reaction and there was nothing more he wanted at that moment than to banish the pain written across Merlin’s face.

“I really am.” The king sought Merlin’s eyes, wanting to meet his gaze head on to make sure he understood how sincere he was about it.

Merlin was very quiet for a moment.  Arthur’s earlier reaction had cut straight through his heart, even if it had lasted only for a split second.  For a fleeting moment it had been the confirmation of all his worst fears and bared his own uncertainties in the most hurtful way. However, when he looked at Arthur now, all he saw was genuine regret. And at that point he could do nothing else but forgive.

‘I know how much you’ve suffered at the hands of magic,” he stated quietly, “and that you’ve lost more than many others because of it.” His shoulders slumped a bit as if taking the full blame for all the sorrow magic had caused Arthur.

“And there were only the two of us, and there wasn’t much else you could have assumed,” Merlin said, his common sense summing up the situation.

Arthur sighed inwardly, relieved at his absolution, but for some reason the words struck a cord, and it was as if a lightning had hit him, as he made a completely different connection out of the blue. “Like the day when my father died,” he watched Merlin breathing in deeply. “The sorcerer, it was you, wasn’t it?” 

Merlin bowed his head in acknowledgment.  “I tried to save him, Arthur. But Morgana and Agravaine …”

Arthur waved his hand to show that he didn’t need any further explanations. “I know you would have tried all you could,” he muttered and then, thinking it through for a moment, exclaimed in astonishment:

“You would have saved a man who would have put you on the stake for your efforts?” It was difficult to grasp the enormity of Merlin’s selflessness completely.

“I wanted to prove to you that magic can be used for good. I hoped to change your mind that not all sorcerers are wicked and … I know you loved Uther…”  Merlin added as a last point.

 _His intention was nothing but noble and honest and fuelled by his friendship for me._   Arthur gulped at the realization.

Merlin was watching him and sensed a definite change in atmosphere. It seemed the tide had changed for the better and that his time had come to make his argument.

“There is no evil in sorcery, Arthur.  Only in the hearts of men. Magic is as good or bad as the person who practices it.” He paused and sent a meaningful look over to Morgana’s body.

Then he got up slowly and covered her remains with a blanket he picked up from Arthur’s saddle bag. Arthur watched him in thought. Merlin’s words had sounded familiar, as if he’d heard them somewhere before. He was sure of it _._ There was so much he needed to learn about magic and sorcery, but first he wanted to understand what part it had played in his life.

“I do trust you,” Arthur insisted, imploringly. “I trust you more than any other man I know.” He put his arm on Merlin’s when he returned to the fire and the warlock gladly accepted the gesture.

“I came to find the truth. About everything,” Arthur spoke very quietly. ‘If whatever you were going to do earlier will make me understand more quickly …”

Merlin lifted his eyes to scan Arthur’s face and their eyes met yet again, the warlock’s hopeful and expectant, the king’s enquiring and curious. Quietly he put his fingertips on Arthur’s forehead.

“You’re ready, then?”

“You aren’t going to mess up my brain?” Arthur attempted the joke but it sounded half serious.

“Not more than it is already,” Merlin mumbled indignantly, a smile playing on his lips.

“I heard that,” Arthur retorted quietly, but then they both fell silent and Merlin mumbled the spell.

Images filled Arthur’s head immediately and as he slipped into Merlin’s mind some of the warlock’s most prominent memories shot through his conscience with speed, yet amazing clarity.

He is diving into the murky waters of the Lake of Avalon. Arthur is the only thought on his mind _. Where are you?_   Sophia, the Sidhe, has enchanted him and lured him to the lake to sacrifice Arthur’s life to gain back her own.  _He cannot die._ The water is freezing and the cold is permeating his bony frame.  There! A hand!  He grabs it frantically and pulls until he gets a hold of Arthur’s chest. Then, fresh air and relief. _He is safe._

The poison is rushing through his veins with increasing tenacity, but he can see Arthur clearly. In the deadly cave where the healing flower grows.  Nimueh has led the prince there and left him to meet a terrible end.  As soon as Merlin is aware of it, a blue shining orb appears in his hand.  _Lead Arthur. Get him to safety_. His mind whispers. And it does.

 

 _I offer my life for Arthur’s._ His voice is clear and determined with no hesitation when he faces Nimueh.  First she just laughs at him, but then accepts with a glint in her eye.

 

Arthur is lying on the ground completely drained by the magic of the Eye of the Phoenix. One more day and he would have been dead.  _Morgana isn’t going to win this one._ Merlin is triumphant as he slips off the bracelet. He has followed Arthur all the way to the Perilous Lands.   _I don’t care what happens to me as long as he is alright._ Relief is flooding him.

 

He is outside the chamber where he will find what keeps the undead army alive – The Cup of Life. Its spell must be broken or they will all perish. The sword in his hand is familiar.  Merlin wields it well and Morgana’s soldiers fall with the help Lancelot. When Merlin knocks the cup off its pedestal to save them all the blood spilling leaves a trail of red on the wall.

 

He is pushing the _same_ sword into a stone for the future, whenever Arthur will need it. And then the day comes and the king is facing the sword, doubting himself more than ever. Merlin is there at his side. _You have to believe, Arthur!_ The words are soothing, kindling his confidence.  _Have faith!_   And Arthur trusts him and takes heart and believes.  And he watches on proudly as the king pulls the sword out of the stone and proves to himself and his knights that he still _is_ the king of Camelot.

 

He is desperate. No, that doesn’t even come near to what he feels. Gwen has poisoned Arthur with a potion more deadly than anything he’s ever seen. His nerves are raw from worry. The magic he uses is intensely powerful and drains every ounce of energy from his body. When life returns to Arthur he breaks down completely. Overcome by exhaustion and relief he sobs mindlessly into Gaius’s arms.  _He will live._ _That was so close_.

 

The power and immediacy of past events left Arthur breathless and yet, there was more.

 

His fight with Valiant.  Merlin had accused the knight of sorcery and nobody had believed him, until he used magic to bring the serpents on Valiant’s shield alive and proved the man had wanted to kill Arthur using dark powers.

 

Another fight passed before his eyes. Queen Annis’s champion had been the tallest and strongest man Arthur had ever seen. His own sword felt odd, as if it had a mind of its own and he struggled against the skilled warrior. Then in the last minute he saw Merlin’s eyes turn golden and enchant his opponent’s weapon so Arthur could get the advantage he needed.

 

Finally Arthur saw himself caught by Morgana in a cave, led by Mithian’s pretence, and just when all seemed lost and Odin’s sword was ready to swipe down and chop his head off, Merlin caused the earthquake that rattled his enemies long enough to give Arthur the opportunity to strike back and defeat Morgana’s men.

 

Images of spears killing beasts, swords piercing magical creatures and tree branches falling at the right time tumbled through his head until, finally, Merlin took his hands off Arthur’s head and the visions stopped.

Arthur remained totally still, unable to speak or move, unwilling to react while his mind was struggling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. It was true what Gaius had said.  Merlin had not only saved his life many more times than he’d known, he had also put his own life in danger again and again willingly, just to keep him safe and alive. And he had always, always, held him when he was falling and lifted him when he was down. 

Stunned into silence Arthur processed every single memory.

And Merlin waited. Waited for Arthur’s reaction. Getting more nervous by the second as watched his friend sitting there, motionless and staring into the flames. This was it.  For years he had wondered about this very moment. Had lived through the most diverse scenarios and outcomes. This was the moment Arthur would pronounce his verdict – on him and on magic.

Finally the king looked up and his voice was hoarse from emotion when he spoke again.

“Looks like I _did_ need some protecting.” And then he smiled and the tight knot in Merlin’s insides disappeared as if by magic. He hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching his teeth and tensing his muscles with a vigour any knight would have been proud of during a training session. 

“All those years. Merlin.” Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “And you never sought any credit for it.”  

Merlin blushed at the compliment, a flutter of excitement making his heart beat faster. This was so much more than he’d ever hoped for. 

“It isn’t why I do it.” Merlin lowered his head, almost in embarrassment.

Arthur looked totally bewildered for a second.  Merlin had sacrificed more for him than any other man he knew, yet he was so humble about it, it was almost irritating.

“Merlin.” Arthur swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sheer modesty of his words. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” He looked a tiny bit deflated when he said it.

And then asked dumbfounded. “Why **_are_** you doing it?”

“I do this because of who you are, Arthur and who you are destined to be.”  Merlin said slowly giving the king a disarming smile. “And because you are my friend.”  He sounded so sincere, almost naïve, and the affection in his voice touched the essence of Arthur’s soul.

“You, Arthur, are the Once and Future King. You are the one to create Albion, a land where people live in peace and prosper and where magic is free.”

“Is that what this is all about? Magic being free?” Arthur asked a little bit provokingly.

Merlin looked up, but could sense no ill intent in the question.

“That night outside the cave of the disir,” Arthur continued. “I asked you about magic then.”  

Merlin nodded. They both clearly remembered his words of that night. _There can be no place for magic in Camelot_ , he had said. And nothing had ever felt more wrong.

“If you wanted magic to return to Camelot – why did you advise me to reject it?” Arthur wondered.

“I thought that Mordred would die.” was the simple explanation.

“And the prophecy predicted that he was destined to kill me.”  Arthur concluded in no time.  “You denied yourself for my sake,” he whispered, finally understanding why Merlin had appeared so upset that time, and with the understanding intense humility ensued.

It seemed whatever Merlin had done since he’d come to Camelot, whatever decisions he’d taken, every single act had always been with him at the fore of his mind.

“Magic being free is only part of it, Arthur,” Merlin went on. “There are many people of different beliefs and opinions in your kingdom and they all deserve to live in peace and not fear for their lives just because for who they are or what they think.”  Merlin’s words were heartfelt and full of integrity and honesty.

“This is what the prophecy is about, this is what the destiny of the Once and Future King holds.”

Merlin’s eyes were full of expectation and hope and Arthur couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.  This was the Merlin he’d always known, the man who always believed in the best of everything and everyone and who always tried to do the right thing.

“You’re being wise again?” Arthur nudged him fondly and then asks thoughtfully. ‘The prophecy…”   And as if this was a cue he grabbed the chance to say what he had come to say.

He paused. “Does it not speak of the king and the warlock working together, linked by destiny, striving for a shared goal?”  It wasn’t really a question, but Arthur hoped that he was making a good point for his own cause.  And when he saw Merlin nod in agreement he continued.

“Please, come back to Camelot with me, Merlin.” 

Merlin’s head popped up at the words. He couldn’t remember Arthur ever pleading with him. _He really does mean this_ , Merlin thought exhilarated, and it was as if all his wildest dreams were fulfilled that very moment. His heart was singing and waves of excitement rushed through him drowning him in a hurricane of overwhelming happiness because he realized what the request entailed.

Arthur wanted him back in the full knowledge of who he was, what had been and what he was capable of.  And he didn’t only accept all of it, but welcomed it in a way Merlin had never thought possible.

The king watched Merlin carefully as he was waiting for an answer. An answer that seemed to take forever. His friend’s face seemed to be clouded in thought and the longer Merlin took to reply, the more uneasy Arthur grew.

Arthur coughed quietly, in some ways hoping to elicit a reaction. “I can see how you like living with the druids and how much you enjoy using your magic freely…,” he started rambling and startled when he was interrupted by quiet laughter.

“How can you be king and yet be so unwise at judging people,” Merlin interrupted him cheekily. “The druids have been very good to me and I owe them a lot.” He paused because he saw how much his words were unsettling his friend.

“A long time ago I said I was happy to be your servant till the day I die.”

Arthur looked up, uncertain.

“That is still true now, Arthur. I was born to serve you and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“So you will return?” Arthur laughed in delight and the intense strain that been burdening him for so many weeks lifted from his heart. He tried to pretend not to notice the tears of relief and jubilation that had started appearing in the corners of his eyes.

 _He would not change a thing._ Arthur repeated in his mind.  _But_ _I will._   _There’s no way I will have a man like this serve me breakfast and wash my laundry._ And he smiled to himself, a plan already forming in his mind.

“There’s no other place I’d rather be than at your side, at Camelot, Arthur.” Merlin was beaming now and his eyes were almost sparkling golden with joy.

Arthur rose, feeling the sudden urge to move as he was overcome by emotion. 

“Merlin.” There was something else he needed to get off his chest, something he’d had at the back of his throat ever since Camlann. He walked up to his friend and put his hand on his shoulder, meeting his blue eyes full on.

“I know now what you’ve done for me and for Camelot.” He was clearing his throat quietly trying to compose himself before he continued. “And there’s something I would like to say I’ve never said before.’ And then the king uttered two little words that meant more than anything else he had said before.

“Thank you.”

And at that Arthur pulled him into a heartfelt hug and Merlin reciprocated it with all his heart. While this was the only way for Arthur to express his heartfelt gratitude and for Merlin his delirious happiness, the symbolism of the act wasn’t lost on either.

The King of Camelot was finally embracing magic.

 

ooooooooooo

 

They were looking down at the familiar sight of the citadel of Camelot, each lost in his own thoughts.

“Things won’t be easy for you to start with,” Arthur said tentatively.

“I expect nothing else,” Merlin replied, not at all disheartened.

“Many nobles and councillors will need convincing about the benefits of magic.”

“I’ll just turn those who disagree into toads,” Merlin laughed out loud when he saw the appalled look Arthur gave him for his comment. 

“So that’s what you call using magic for the good of people,” Arthur mumbled between his teeth and grinned.  And, like on cue, Merlin’s words about magic popped right into his head again.

_There is no evil in sorcery. Only in the hearts of men. Magic is as good or bad as the person who practices it._

He’d been sure he had heard the words before and they’d been on his mind ever since. Out of a sudden, it struck him. The old witch who had brought Gwen back from Morgana’s clutches. Those blue eyes. The woman had seemed so familiar. How could he have missed it at the time?

“The Dolma!” He shouted, half in shock, half completely dumbfounded. “That was you!”

Merlin head shot round, surprised at the sudden outburst, and Arthur bit his lips when he saw his friend’s ears turning red.

“It was Gaius’s idea,” Merlin said rather defensively and somewhat embarrassed, but there was a smile twitching on his lips. “You knew the face of my old self and I couldn’t risk being found out.’

And while Arthur noted at the back of his mind that Merlin had obviously not only looked after him but also saved Gwen, he couldn’t deny himself the tease.

“You wore women’s clothes.” Amusement oozed from the comment. “Enjoy it?”  Arthur quipped further, a massive grin spreading over his face.

“Just as much as you revelled in posing as a simpleton,” Merlin retorted, reminding Arthur of his ridiculous outfit and behaviour when he had to go undercover after Camelot had fallen to Morgana three years earlier.

“Suppose _that_ did _not_ need a lot of posing though,” Merlin added, smiling mischievously.

Arthur laughed out loud and slapped Merlin’s shoulder happily. They both shared a look, very much aware how much they’d missed this channel of communication.

“Any other memories you’ve kept from me?” Arthur taunted and there was something in his voice that made Merlin look up.

“There might be one or two,” he admitted while he hesitated, searching Arthur’s face. There was clearly something particular on his friend’s mind.

“Dragons.” It was just the one word and Arthur knew heÄd hit a nerve when he saw Merlin’s reaction.

The warlock blushed again, fully aware this was something that would need properly explained.

“Yes,” he admitted and grinned. “There is that.”

But he didn’t volunteer anything else at this moment, and Arthur was happy to leave it at that – for now. There would be plenty of time to discover even the last of Merlin’s secrets, and he had every intention of doing so.

“Come on. Let’s go!” Merlin edged him on, keen to return to Camelot and see Gaius and Gwen again.

“I’m the king,” Arthur said in mock gruff. “I give the orders here. Nobody tells me what to do.”

“I always have.”  Merlin could not help but stating a fact and his eyes were dancing with laughter.  “And I’m not going to change now.”

Arthur, suddenly all serious, took the reins of Merlin’s horse to steady it and face his friend earnestly.

“I don’t want you to change, Merlin. I want you to be always you.” And he meant every single word of it. And at that he spurred on the horses before the emotion crossing his face became too obvious. 

 

oooooooooo

 

Two men were riding side by side towards the turrets of the bustling citadel of Camelot.

Two men of power and of equal standing.  One a warrior and a statesman; the other a man nurtured by the most powerful force on earth. Each needing the other to feel ultimately whole.  Each granting their souls were incomplete without the bond they shared.

They were two sides of the same coin.  As they always had been and always would be.

Two men, ready to build a kingdom in friendship and prepared to face all the challenges this would entail.  They were set to embark on a new adventure, one that would need both their skills and one that would usher in a new era.

 Just as the prophecy had predicted.

 

THE END

No, not really.

THE BEGINNING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to go with Adele 'This is the end (or the beginning - whichever way you would like to see it :))  
> Arthur and Merlin will have many years now to build Albion as we were promised for five years! Arthur will have time to get to know all of Merlin's secrets and he will appreciate him for what he really is. As was implied throughout all seasons!  
> That is what was promised to us, but it was denied in the end! Even a year on, 5.13 still hurts .... I know I am pathetic this way *g*.


End file.
